


Insolence

by asparrowonthemend



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alive Reginald Hargreeves, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempted Dissociation, Bruises, Chains, Child Abuse, Creepy Older Men, Daddy Issues, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Face Slapping, Gags, Incest, Knifeplay, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Touching, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Reginald Hargreeves, Punishment, Rape Aftermath, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Rope Bondage, Sex Toys, Sweet Baby Angel Ben Hargreeves, Trauma, Vaginal Fingering, Vanya Hargreeves Deserves Better, Vanya Hargreeves takes a field trip, adoptive incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26237350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparrowonthemend/pseuds/asparrowonthemend
Summary: It began as a brutal and opportunistic punishment for a tiny lie. It ended as an arrangement.
Relationships: Reginald Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Reginald Hargreeves/Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 8
Kudos: 108





	1. Soap

**Author's Note:**

> Although I had a feeling I was going to hell for one reason or another, this fic can be added to the list. 
> 
> Please, if you read the tags and you see this isn't for you, I urge you to stop reading. It's not going to get any better for sweet Vanya. I took some liberties with the academy building.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In her periphery, she saw his hand raise up and she flinched reflexively. But instead of a familiar slap, the back of his hand simply brushed the side of her face. His knuckles rested on the space beneath her ear. She glanced at his arm and followed it up to his face. A smooth and controlled rage darkened his eyes.

Vanya poked at the meatloaf in front of her as if it was the most interesting dinner in the world. Fifteen minutes into supper and she’d barely taken three bites. Her stomach was in knots, not a very welcoming environment for her mother’s cooking, and she felt droplets of sweat slip down her neck. Her siblings seemed none-the-wiser and were close to finishing their meals. Well, she knew Luther and Diego had finished first, but the scraping of plates told her she had a bit more time to force herself to eat.

She knew she’d have to look up eventually. Look up and catch her father’s disapproving glare from across the table. He had the right to be angry with her, she knew, for what he had caught her doing hours before.  
She glanced at her wrist. Her blazer hid the remnants of her poorly drawn marker tattoo. It was mostly scrubbed off after her father caught her admiring it in her bedroom. 

Father himself had wordlessly hoisted her up by the wrist and dragged her to the children’s lavatory, where he took a washcloth roughly to her work. It had hurt due to the sheer force behind his scrubbing, he never did anything halfway, but it was downright terrifying that he did it all without saying a word. He didn’t even scold her when she started crying. She spent the hours preceding dinner agonizing over what his silence meant.

The clinking of silverware settling on a plate snapped her back out of her thoughts. She looked up to see Allison wiping her mouth with a cloth napkin and staring at her sister. Vanya sat up. They were all looking at her - Luther, Diego, Klaus, Ben, and Five. Everyone but her father who seemed distracted by the swirling of wine in his glass.  
“Are you feeling alright, sweetheart?” Vanya nearly dropped her fork at her mother’s sudden re-entry. Grace effortlessly strode across the dining room with a tray to collect dishes. “Was it the meatloaf?”

Vanya quickly shook her head. “No, mom, I…I guess I’m not feeling well.”

Grace frowned and set the tray down next to Vanya’s plate. Her hand immediately went to Vanya’s forehead. “I do not detect a fever…”

“I-I bet it’s just cramps.” Allison piped up, offering her sister an out. “Right Van?” 

Vanya stared at her sister. It was out of character for Three to speak up on her behalf let alone call her _Van_. But she nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

Grace smiled again, silently picked up the tray, and then began collecting plates. “Well, if your father deems it so, I think you can all be excused for evening reflection and free time.”

Across the table, Reginald took a sip of his wine then gently placed his glass down as Grace passed behind him. “Yes. You are all dismissed…Except for you, Seven.” Only then did the elder Hargreeves meet Vanya’s eye. His mouth was a thin line with just the slightest suggestion of anger.

The girl froze in her father’s gaze and gripped her fork and knife tightly. Her siblings awkwardly but quietly slipped from their chairs and filed out of the dining room. And although she did not turn to see it, Allison gave her sister a worried look.

Grace continued along the table seemingly unaware Reginald and Vanya remained. She hummed softly as she went and didn’t even pause when Vanya failed to forfeit her silverware. With balletic flourish, the woman turned and departed with her loaded tray. 

Only then did Reginald speak.

“Seven, is it true that…’cramps’, prevented you from finishing your dinner?” 

Vanya felt heat creep into her cheeks. She was an awful liar and he knew it. He knew everything about her. Still. She had to try. She couldn’t upset him twice in one day. “Yes. I got my period today.” There was no pretense or pride regarding bodily functions in the Hargreeves family. Her father had Grace sit her and Allison down years ago to give them the ‘talk’ - along with an explanation their father would be tracking their cycles for ‘research’. 

“I seem to recall from your calendar that your cycle is not due for another week.” He answered readily. _Everything_ , she reminded herself. 

“I-It’s early. It happens. I know that it happens, sometimes.” Vanya squeaked.

Her father regarded her for a few moments - just enough to make her squirm and set her silverware down at last.

“It’s as I thought.” He finally said, pushing himself back from the table and rising. Taking hold of his cane, he approached Seven slowly around the table. “Come with me, Number Seven.” He continued past her in the direction of his study. He did not wait.

Vanya hastily exited her seat, still mindful to push her chair back in, and fell into step behind her father. 

The pace he set was torturously slow. Or was it her imagination? Either way, she could not help but think of what he was about to make her do or inflict upon her. Her punishment had to be something awful, for him to make her wait several hours to receive it. 

A part of her hoped it was something good. A sad part. A part that just wanted to be extraordinary, after all the years of being left out. 

When they reached his study at last, he directed her inside first before closing the heavy door behind them. She was several paces in when she heard the locks latch. Her empty stomach twisted itself in a knot.

“Go to my desk and remove the folders. Stack them neatly on the floor to the left.” Reginald instructed as he crossed the room to the fireplace behind his desk. 

Vanya felt herself relax on a microscopic level. Cleaning. It was an appropriate punishment for the marker tattoo. Surprisingly light, too, but perhaps he was in a ‘good’ mood. She practically ran to her father’s desk and immediately began moving the several file folders. The floor was an odd place to place them, but she didn’t pay it much mind.

“After you have moved them all, do the same with the books and loose papers.” Reginald poked at the small fire he had started. “Then retrieve that bronze bowl from that pedestal, fill it with water from the adjoining lavatory, and bring the bar of soap. Place it on my desk.” 

It didn’t take the girl very long to complete her tasks. She carefully placed the bowl atop his desk and stood at its side. She clasped her hands behind her back, ready for further instruction. “What else can I do for you, father? What else can I clean? The floors, perhaps?”

Reginald, satisfied with the fire he started, placed the poker back in its place and turned towards his adoptive daughter. He simply stared at her for a moment, before taking two steps into her personal space. 

Vanya felt the hair on the back of her head stand. It wasn’t as if her father was a particularly large man, but everyone was a towering figure to her tiny frame. In her periphery, she saw his hand raise up and she flinched reflexively. But instead of a familiar slap, the back of his hand simply brushed the side of her face. His knuckles rested on beneath her ear. She glanced at his arm and followed it up to his face. A smooth and controlled rage darkened his eyes.

“Is that what you think you are doing? Cleaning?” He asked.

Vanya’s face felt hot again. “I-I…Is that not what you want me to do?”

The line of his mouth twitched downward. “You could not keep your hands clean. _I_ had to scrub them for you.” His knuckles fell into an open hand on her shoulder. “And,” he squeezed. “You cannot keep your mouth clean. You _lied_ to me. At dinner. In front of your brothers and your sister - who will be punished as well, mind you - about your _menstrual_ cycle.”

She wanted to rip herself from his grip and run for the door. But she knew he’d catch her before she managed the first lock. “I’m not—I didn’t—“ She started.

“Spit it out, you aggravating child.” He squeezed her shoulder again.

Vanya felt like she was overheating. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and her throat dried. “I’m not lying. Please. Please.” She wheezed.

His brow furrowed further. “Useless _and_ stupid. Fine.” He released her and smoothed his jacket. “Then, if you are not lying, you will have no issue with me verifying your cycle for my records.” 

She could have puked if she had eaten the meatloaf. 

“W-what? No, I can’t. Dad, please. I can’t just…show you.” 

He tilted his head as if shocked. “Why not? It is nothing I have not seen before.”

Would her cheeks ever return to a normal temperature? He truly had no shame nor limit to his cruelty. She swallowed. “I just can’t. Please.”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Then I have no choice but to believe you are lying and lying cannot go unpunished.” He gestured at his desk. “If you will not show me proof, sit atop my desk and face the fireplace.” 

Vanya weighed her options for a half-second. Humiliate herself by taking her father into the lavatory and showing him her very non-existent tampon? Or take her chances and sit on the desk? Not much of a choice. Vanya stepped around her father and slid between the desk and the aged leather chair. Without another word she hoisted herself atop it and smoothed her skirt.

Her choice seemed to please her father as his scowl relaxed into a more palatable frown. In a fluid motion, Reginald removed his jacket and neatly draped it over the back of his chair, then started on the sleeves of his dress shirt. He tugged the sleeves one at a time up his forearm and over his elbow. 

Vanya shivered uncomfortably. A feeling she could not quite name gradually took hold of her. It did not lessen as her father stepped into the narrow space between the chair and her legs with a hand sliding over her knee in a passing motion. He withdrew a clean handkerchief from his pocket and dipped it into the bowl. Vanya watched as the cloth slightly swelled in the water. 

His hand returned to her cheek, drawing her eyes back to his face. His frown deepened at the sight of her confusion. “Because of your disturbing lies, you have made your mouth filthy and as your father, it is my responsibility to _wash_ it like I did your wrist.”

Vanya opened her mouth to argue which prompted her father’s open palm to firmly grasp her jaw. Her hands immediately flew up to grab at his arm, but her actions seemed to only spur him to act quicker. His thumb jammed itself into her lips, hooked her cheek, and stretched it open further. With the soaking handkerchief in one hand, he grabbed at the bar of soap and brought it towards her face. 

“Dah—dah—ah!” She struggled to speak with her mouth held open. 

“Stop your fidgeting at once!” Her father responded. “You are only making this harder on yourself” He warned.

Vanya felt hot tears start to streak down the sides of her face. Similarly, drool was started to leak from her mouth. It was humiliating to be made so vulnerable, to be held open like this, by her father. Her grip on her father’s arm weakened but she could not bring herself to pry them off. She saw his mouth switch to a smirk at her slackened hold. 

“Open your legs so that I may have better access.” 

She hesitated only a moment before parting her knees around his hips. He did not wait to lean further against the desk.

Cold water dripping from the handkerchief now hit and streaked over her knee and lower thigh. She stared into her father’s eyes. Frightened. Embarrassed. Confused. He held her gaze as he brought the bar of soap into her mouth. 

It was gentle at first. She willingly opened her mouth further to avoid scraping her teeth atop the bar. She silently thanked the uncaring universe her father loathed scented things. The soap only tasted like, well, soap. It was a bit sweet, a bit bitter, and a touch nauseating. He kept sliding it into her mouth until it started entering her throat, which caused her to stir again. Panic. He wasn’t going to choke her, was he? 

Vanya’s grip resume its harder hold on Reginald’s arm. Her eyes darted across his glowering features, desperate to communicate how close he was to -

“Mmph!” 

The soap hit the back of her throat. Her muscles clenched in an attempt to force it out, but her father held firm. She jerked atop the desk and removed one hand from his arm to push at his chest. She gagged against the soap and his hand. After a few seconds he pulled back on the soap bar, allowing her a few precious breaths, before ramming it in again. And again. 

It was suffocating. The incessant pace her father set with the soap was painful and cruel. Of course, this was the point. Vanya maintained something of a struggle. Her body’s natural response to a foreign, somewhat gross, object. The wet noises and moans of pain she made disgusted her equally, but it was her father’s reaction that was even more appalling.

Reginald seemed almost…excited by the vigorous scrubbing. The thumb hooked into her mouth was rubbing tiny circles on her inner cheek. He rocked against the desk in-time with the bar of soap. His usually detached expression had given way to a vicious grin. 

“There seems to be an issue with this punishment, Number Seven.” He spoke at last. He studied her for a few moments, not letting up with the slick soap. “Even with my ministrations, your mouth only seems capable of making obscene noise. A truly disgusting cacophony.” It was with the last phrase that he withdrew the soap suddenly with an audible pop. 

Drool and suds dribbled from her mouth immediately. Vanya’s hands released her father’s arm and jacket to catch them. The front of her blazer and shirt were already soaking. She gasped and coughed, unsure of what to do.

Reginald dropped the soap and cloth into the bowl, then briefly examined his hands. “Open your mouth again. I want to see the results.” 

Vanya wiped at her mouth and chin as best as she could with the sleeve of her blazer before slowly, more fretfully this time, opening her mouth. She would be tasting soap for a week. 

Her father gripped her jaw again with one hand before using the other to open it further. His face resumed its calculating expression as if he really were inspecting her tooth by tooth. After a few moments he slid a finger in and pressed down on her tongue.

Vanya shuddered at the sensation. Without the soap or the handkerchief, her father’s finger felt peculiar. 

He eyed the lingering suds that held on. The hand holding her jaw pushed her head backward before sliding down across her neck. Then he rubbed at her tongue curiously. 

She heard herself moan before she could process it. She froze.

This noise stopped her father in his tracks. He let a few seconds pass before guiding her head back down to look at her in the eye.  
“You liked that, eh?” 

Her face burned. She was stunned. At his question, at her moan.

“Interesting.” 

Reginald released her and withdrew his finger. He stepped backward, pushing his desk chair back with his legs, and continued to simply study her.  
“Remove your blazer.”

Vanya wiped at her mouth again before slowly sliding out of her blazer one arm at a time. He plucked it from her at once before flinging it over the desk and onto the floor. He took a half-step to the side, allowing the light of the fireplace to fall onto her form. The exposed portion of her uniform’s shirt was almost translucent from soapy water. The realization drew her hands protectively up over her chest.

That strange and unfamiliar feeling grew. It was difficult for her to pin down. Was it an internal warning or some kind of unconscious alarm bell? And yet something within her kept her rooted to the spot. Daring herself to see what would happen next.

Her father reached out and removed a hand from her chest only to replace it with her own. His palm against her wet shirt elicited a squeak. The noise earned a quiet chuckle. For the moment it was a completely innocent touch. His palm was over the center of her chest. He’d done it a dozen times when feeling for her heartbeat at their family’s checkups. But it did not remain so innocent. Before Vanya could really process the gesture, his hand was moving over her right breast. 

Vanya gasped. “Dad! What are you doing?!” 

Reginald let out another dry laugh. Beneath his palm he felt a hardened bud. Vanya felt it too. He closed his palm slightly to squeeze her breast. She grabbed at his wrist with both hands and he only squeezed harder.

“Dad, p-please. That hurts. This is wrong.” 

He ignored her. “Ah. I understand now. Although I sought to punish, it seems, being the lascivious whelp that you are, you _liked_ it.”

Her eyes went wide. “No! I didn’t! I swear!”

Again, he ignored her. “Tell me. What was it - my hand or simply the sensation of being _full_?”

Her tears were endless now. It was all too much. The heat of the fire. The interrogation. The sweet yet bitter taste in her mouth. Her father’s cold eyes watching it all. Vanya couldn’t find a word to answer. She removed his hand off with great effort and went to stand. 

“Where do you think you are going?”

His hands immediately replaced themselves upon her. One gripped at her left hip and the other, bypassing her breast, went to her throat. Vanya choked, startled at the grip, and felt him press up against her as he pushed her back onto her perch. He pressed forward with his hips and arms. Her back gradually lowered to press against the desk. Her father hovered above her.

Vanya squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn’t happening. Her father was going to kill her. Rid her family of her uselessness. She felt his hot breath against her cheek.

“Your punishment is far from over, Number Seven. No. I’m afraid I will have to break this insolent spirit of yours.”


	2. Rope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who would believe the ordinary, ineffectual dullard of the family?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More *not great* things ahead. Again, please read the tags carefully before you continue. Poor sweet bb Vanya.
> 
> Feedback is wanted and welcome. Your author is a first-time fic writer.

“Your punishment is far from over, Number Seven. No, I’m afraid I will have to break this insolent spirit of yours.”

Vanya didn’t dare to open her eyes even as her father’s hand remained pressed to her throat. Her hands grabbed blindly at his shirt to push him off, but it was no use. He was heavy and everywhere, and from her angle she found no leverage.

The hand that was on her hip edged up her side. The unexpectedly gentle touch tickled through her wet shirt and she twitched uncontrollably beneath her father. Again his hand passed over her chest and came to a stop at her collar. Vanya opened her eyes to see her father making short work of her shirt’s buttons. The collar and two top buttons were already open, exposing her clavicles and bra straps. Her breath hitched as his work continued. Their eyes met. 

He spoke just above a whisper. It felt almost intimate. “You need to be reminded that _I_ am in charge. This is _my_ home,” Each word accentuated with another popped button. “ _My_ academy, and _you_ belong to _me_.”

She took a shallow breath, summoning a last bit of courage. “But y-you’re my…You’re my _dad_.”

He smiled. It sent another shiver in her spine. “Not biologically speaking.”

With her shirt undone, he moved the wet fabric to either side of her body. Vanya felt the flames of the fireplace more than before, as if that’s what heat licked up her legs and thighs. The fire behind her father backlit him above her and as his hand move to push up her bra, he looked like the devil himself.

Her first coherent thought since this began came to mind.

_No. Fight. You’re an idiot, Vanya. You can’t just sit here while he does this to you._

It was her turn to rip at his shirt. Her nails raked down the expensive material for purchase, finding it in the buttons and collar. Something was possessing her to move as much as she dared. Anger? Fear? She didn’t stop to ask, but kept tearing and ripping where she could. She felt the material give way beneath her fingers and heard buttons scatter across the desk.

Above her, her father was almost growling at her attempts to stop him. He could not manage her bra at this rate. Finding himself momentarily blocked, he lifted his hand, brought it back, then swung forward to slap the girl. She paused and the older man used the opportunity to take both of her hands in his own. He pinned them to her sides and squeezed her thigh between his legs. 

Vanya, face still stinging, felt a normal airflow returning to her lungs without his hand over her throat. She choked out, “Please…stop. If...If you don’t…I’ll tell. I’ll scream.” Yes, she would tell everyone. Her siblings. Her mother. Pogo, too. Her mouth twitched into a small and unusually defiant smirk, challenging him to respond.

At first, Reginald simply stared down at her. But as the seconds ticked by, a chuckle tugged at his lips. It was followed by a laugh, an actual laugh so unsettling Vanya’s smirk vanished as quickly as it came. “Tell them what you would like. They will never believe you, not when it is your word against mine. Who would believe the ordinary, ineffectual dullard of the family?”

Her mouth parted but no quick retort or line, came out. New tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. 

“Gods, you truly are the weakest link. Still…” His eyes drifted down her body. “There is the most minute possibility that you may be of _some_ use to me.” 

_Ordinary. Ineffectual. Dullard._ She repeated the words her head, turning them over and over as if they would eventually take new meaning. Her father was always mean, always harsh, but his words cut deeper alongside his actions.

Reginald took advantage of the girl’s momentary limpness and released one arm to hook his fingers in the front of her skirt. He dragged it down as far as her knees before she jerked.

“Even if no one believes me,” Vanya sobbed. Her freed hand grabbed at his arm. “Even if I am nothing more than trash, y-you can’t do this to me.” She lowered her voice and looked down at her exposed underwear. “I’ve...I’ve never...”

Her father let out a bored sigh. “Yes, I _know_. ” Ignoring the hand on his arm, he yanked her skirt down and off of her in one final tug. His hand swung back up immediately to cup her sex through her underwear, earning a surprised yelp from the girl. “It is my hope your virginal status means this punishment will succeed in humbling you.” 

Vanya slapped at her father’s hand and tried to squirm away, but quickly stopped as she realized she was only making herself grind further onto his fingers. The lingering soapy taste in her mouth suddenly tasted acidic. Her father, feeling her move against him albeit unintentionally, chuckled, but removed his hand. Vanya heard a drawer in the desk slide open with a scraping creak and miscellaneous contents be shifted about. She took the moment to cover herself with her free hand but almost drew back as she felt a spot of wetness. Before she could process _why_ her body was reacting the way it did, coarse rope slid around her wrist. Her head jerked up again.

Her father held in his hand a short length of rope which he was very quickly fastening around her wrist. Once tied, he used the hand that pinned her and brought her other wrist towards the rope. Vanya felt her hand covering herself be tugged up as well and instinctually resisted. But within seconds her hands were secured wrist-to-wrist and as useless as herself. She let out another sob.

“There.” Reginald said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. He lifted Vanya’s bound hands and peered at the knots closely. He had intentionally left a short length free to act as a leash and gripped it as such. He leaned towards her and pulled her up to meet him halfway. For a moment, he held their faces inches away from one another’s before his vicious smirk returned. “Are your wrists comfortable, Number Seven?”

Vanya sniffed. “No.” She croaked.

“Good.” And her father at last closed the space between them and kissed her. 

The kiss was as unrelenting as his cruelty. His teeth nipped at her lower lip and his tongue followed. His coarse mustache and goatee scratched against her chin and lips. Whatever ‘cleanliness’ the soap provided was long gone. Vanya cried into the kiss, bound hands feebly gripping at his ripped and open dress shirt. She let out a muffled shriek as his other hand return to her crotch. A single finger pressed up against the wet spot from earlier drawing another sickening moan. The moan became a whimper as it moved to trace the edge of the cloth, edging ever closer to what was beneath. 

The finger slid slowly beneath the thin strip of cotton and brushed against Vanya’s sex. She bucked into his hand, again, and her father broke the kiss. The elder Hargreeves dragged his mouth up her jaw then down to her neck. His mouth latched to the spot where her neck and shoulder met and sucked hard. His finger continued to lightly brush against Vanya. She didn’t have to look at him to know he was relishing every involuntary movement or noise she made. 

“I-It’s not too l-late to stop.” She managed breathily. 

At this, Reginald open his mouth against her neck and bit down on the already bruised flesh. Vanya cried out louder and thrashed. He continued his assault to her neck for a handful of agonizing moments before pulling away to examine his work. A near-bloody imprint of his teeth framed a darkening hickey. He hummed to himself, pleased with the view, and discarded his ruined shirt.

Through her tears, Vanya looked over her father’s torso. It occurred to her that she had never seen him out of his usual jacket, let alone shirtless. Her observations did not go unnoticed.

“Even now you admire me.” He said plainly.

She had no reply. What was the point? She watched as he withdrew a letter opener from the drawer he had produced the rope. The ornate knife looked sharp - was he going to cut her up? At this point, Vanya could not consider anything out of bounds for her father. 

Still humming, he lowered the blade to her stomach and let it barely hover against her skin. Vanya resisted another shiver under the cold metal but felt gooseflesh slowly appear over her skin. She watched as he drew short circles around her navel before carefully bringing it up to the bridge of her bra. She swallowed. One swing of his arm and he could bring an end to it all. A sick part of her wished he would. Instead, her father slipped the blade beneath the cotton and began to cut away.

Reginald smirked as Vanya’s bra snapped open rather dramatically. It took far less effort to slice through the cheap material than he thought. His smirk grew as Vanya brought her bound hands up to cover her exposed breasts unsuccessfully. He plucked his monocle from his face and gingerly set it on his desk. The absence of the glass made him even harder to look at for some reason, like he had stripped away the last piece of normalcy.

He stepped backwards and pulled the rope binding her wrists to guide her off the desk. He positioned his daughter to stand in front of the leather chair he’d moved aside earlier. 

“Open your legs a bit more.” He instructed.

Vanya stared at her feet. _I can’t._

“Still defiant, eh?” If he were the type, he would have rolled his eyes. Instead, he stepped forward and momentarily onto the toes of her right shoe with his full weight. Vanya yelped. He removed the weight and she instantly moved her feet to be roughly a foot apart. “Better.” 

He moved to Vanya’s side and brought the letter opener to the back of her shirt. A few precise cuts later and the remains of her shirt and bra fell to the floor. He returned to her front and knelt. A hand gripped her side and the other pressed the blade flat to her thigh. He leaned in.

“Ah!” Vanya cried. She stared as her father pressed his nose into her crotch and _inhaled_. She suppressed another cry as he rubbed into it. What he was doing was utterly vile…but the way her body responded felt worse. A strange, almost ticklish, sensation sprung forth from how he touched her. She watched as his face turned upwards so that he could look at her. His mouth replaced his nose and he opened it against her covered sex. She nearly keeled over at the feeling of his tongue running over her underwear, but he seemed to anticipate this and gripped at her hip harder. 

More lewd cries slipped out of her as he licked and sucked hard through the cotton. Her legs were shaking and she struggled to keep her legs open. She threw her head back and rolled it to the side, grateful she had her long hair to hide her face. Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. This was disgusting. _She_ was disgusting. The ticklish sensation grew into something warm and swept over her body. A nameless pressure was building within her and she was both frightened and elated at once. Every cry or jerk spurred her father to work against her quicker. 

“D-Dad…Please…A-ah!” She suddenly screeched, that pressure hitting a peak. The warmth had expanded until it could no more. It left her reeling with wave after wave of an electric pleasure. She felt drops of sweat streak lazily down her neck beneath her hair, between the heat the fire and his mouth she felt woozy. Without her father’s hand steadying her she would surely fall.

He pulled away, mercifully, after a few seconds. The hand holding the letter opener migrated to the front of her soaked panties and pulled them down a few inches. “How did it feel, Seven? To have me of all people supply for your first orgasm?”

Her eyes fluttered beneath her hair. So that was an orgasm. Another term passed to her from her mother, but something she didn’t fully grasp until now. She bit her lip and remembered her mother describing it as something shared between two lovers. Is this what they were now? No longer child and parent, but something more. Something, she thought, was forbidden.

When she didn’t reply, he deftly freed her of her soiled underwear with the blade, and stood up. He placed the letter opener back in its drawer and slid it shut. He peered at Number Seven and reached to clear the hair from her face. “Enough of this hiding.” Her tear-slicked face emerged from her hair, her eyes puffy and red from her sobs. Her pained expression seemed to please him as he took her quivering lip as an invitation to kiss her again. It was another long and bruising kiss, more of a display of power than anything else. He snaked his arms around her bare waist and pulled her into him. 

Vanya couldn’t help but moan into the kiss even as it killed her. She drifted forward into him but froze as her hands brushed up against a distinct hardness beneath his suit. He rocked forward in response and shoved himself into her tied hands. As she realized _what_ it was, her palms opened as far as they could and stretched away. She did not want to give him the impression she wanted any part of it. 

His hands slid from her sides as he broke the kiss. Vanya took advantage of the change in distance between their bodies and lifted her hands to her chest protectively. His brow immediately lowered in a new scowl. “I thought I told you to stop hiding.” He grabbed the rope and yanked downward roughly. His other hand pushed down on her shoulder forcing her to her knees. His hands then moved to unbutton his trousers.

She landed on her knees with a groan. Her legs were still shaky and now sore from being spread awkwardly across his mouth. Her wet eyes fluttered upwards to peer at him but stopped short as she realized what was just about level with her face. His hands worked as quickly as they did with her clothing. He pulled himself out of his trousers, not bothering to shed his clothing completely. She averted her eyes immediately. 

“All of a sudden you are quite shy.” 

She focused on the floor. Her eyes burned but she just couldn’t cry anymore. “Please don’t make me do this. We can stop right now.” 

His hand stroked the top of her head and threaded his fingers through her hair. “Your punishment is not even halfway complete, Number Seven. Now,” His fingers suddenly contorted in her hair as he jerked her face towards him. “Open your mouth.”

A cry of pain died in her mouth at the sight before her. While one hand was wrenched in her hair, her father’s other hand was lazily stroking himself. Even after everything he had done to her, heat rushed to her cheeks. She had seen a penis before. Several books and diagrams presented by her mother. Diego’s, when he pissed into a bush into the fountain when he thought no one was watching. A man in one of Klaus’s contraband magazines she confiscated for her father. But this one was up close, twitching, and attached to her father. She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. 

“Open your mouth young lady or I will make you regret it.” He barked at her. 

Vanya could not bring herself to relax her jaw or mouth. She looked up at him, a silent plea on her face. 

He let out a disappointed sigh before snatching her hair up again. He ignored the cry that came from her and kept pulling upward.

“S-Stop! Stop!” Vanya said trying to follow his hand to minimize the pain radiating from her scalp. “I’ll do it!” His grip loosened immediately and she fell back to her knees with a thud. 

Reginald afforded her mere seconds to adjust her stance before his hand clasped her jaw. His thumb poked at her lips as it did before. “Then open. And I better not feel a single damn tooth on my cock or I will show you _actual_ pain.”

Vanya’s lips reluctantly parted and he eased himself into her mouth. Vanya gasped and cried against his flesh as it slid over her lips and tongue. Above her he shushed her and whispered a few empty words of encouragement. He drew himself out of her mouth gradually before pushing it back in further. Her tongue was flattened to the bottom of her mouth and oh, how she wished for the bar of soap. The…taste was difficult to pin down. It tasted faintly of sweat and perhaps body wash, but she had nothing to compare it to. All she knew for certain is that she wanted to curl up and die.

“That’s it…take it like a good girl for me, Number Seven.”

The next few minutes felt like hours as he dragged his member in and out of her face. Both of his hands had entangled themselves in her hair at some point and guided her head to match his quickening pace. Eventually, a series of grunts began to escape him which brought her eyes up to his face.

Though wincing at the pace and the pain, she felt compelled to watch his face contort in a flurry of expressions. A tiny part of her was amazed. Never had she seen him express any other kinds of emotion aside from anger, disappointment, or complete neutrality. He looked…happy? _No, that’s not it,_ she thought. A string of deep thrusts, jutting into her throat, rid her of her astonishment. 

Her father suddenly pulled out with a low groan. A pearly substance shot from the tip of his cock. Some landed in her mouth, across her lips and chin, but most fell to her neck and chest. He panted and glared down at her with a ghost of a smile. Her chest heaved, regaining her cleared airway for the second time in the hour, but her eyes were on the mess all over her chest. She let out a cross between a sob and a dry-heave, swallowing whatever was in her mouth. 

“I must say Number Seven, this is the prettiest you have ever looked.” Reginald bent down to pluck a shred of her torn shirt from the ground and began to wipe himself off. “Stand.”

Vanya’s head was pounding. To say she felt sick was an understatement. The insults, the backhanded compliments, the utter abuse he had inflicted upon her were almost too much to bear. He had already taken so many firsts from her, and she knew his punishment was not going to end there. Trembling, she stood.

“Clear off the rest of my desk as best as you can manage,” He said, balling up the soiled cloth, “I must retrieve something from the lavatory.” With that, he tossed the cloth into the fire, turned on heel, and strode through the open door. 

She didn’t think she had any fight in her. Really. But no sooner than he disappeared into the adjoining room did she sprint towards the office door. Her legs were on pins and needles from kneeling, but she ignored them. She fell upon the door and her bound hands desperately fought with the first lock. It slid from its latch and a renewed courage clawed at the walls of her stomach. The second was heavier than the first, but it began to-

She screamed as wood met flesh. Something struck her across the lower back and she spun around with her tied hands up to protect herself. 

Her father, armed with his cane, had caught up with her. He swung the cane a second time and struck her in the stomach. The blow brought her to her knees. 

“I should have known.” He hissed at her cowering form. 

This was it, it had to be. Vanya had made him look stupid and that was an unforgivable offense above lying or cheating. She whimpered as he stooped to kneel over her. He dropped his cane with a clatter and clasped both hands around her throat.

“You are determined to make this harder on yourself. We could have been finished by now if not for your insubordination.” His grip tightened around her throat and he pressed.

 _He’s lying. He’s lying. He was never going to stop._ She repeated to herself between sobs. _He’s going to kill me._

Dark spots blinked at the edges of her vision. It was gradually becoming difficult to hear the string of insults he unloaded upon her. She choked under his hold but did not struggle. It would be easier to die. 

Moments later the waking world slipped from the girl and she felt herself falling into a comforting darkness.


	3. Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if a spell or incantation, the word _special_ washed over her and evoked a sudden unearned tenderness in her. She blinked back tears she hadn’t felt forming and swallowed. Special. She hadn't been special for a long time. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time he called her that at all. She had never even heard him bestow it upon Luther, his favorite, or any of the others. She pressed her face to her knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does dear Reginald have planned for Vanya? The story does not end here.
> 
> I really can't stop myself with this story.
> 
> I took additional liberties with Vanya’s age in this chapter. I realize the kids were 13ish when they got their tattoos, but it felt like she needed to be aged up slightly in order to better process/understand what was happening to her while maintaining some innocence and gullibility.

The first thing Vanya noticed was light. A soft yellow light coaxing her eyes open. Her vision was blurry as it typically would be in the morning, but the light was much too close to be sunlight through a window. She rubbed her eyes clean of sleep and yawned. Had she dreamt of what had transpired between herself and her father? She sat up slowly and winced as thin sheets fell to pool in her lap. Her nudity and the full body ache told her no, the nightmare was very real.

Her vision cleared and her breath hitched. She was not in her room. To her horror, she found herself in her father’s bedroom. The bedside lamp was the only source of light in the room. The curtains were drawn and deprived her of any notion of the time. She rubbed at her wrists and glanced worriedly about, looking to see if he was there, lurking in the shadows. Perhaps her punishment was finished? Maybe it was already the next day and he was off training her siblings. 

She was about to slide off the bed when she noticed it. A long snake-like shape beneath the sheets. It moved with her leg. Her mouth dried at the creeping realization. Trembling, she lifted the sheet further and gasped. Around her right ankle was a leather cuff, its insides lined with something soft, and attached to the cuff was a chain. She pulled against it experimentally and the corner of the post creaked in response. “No.” She said weakly to herself. 

A renewed fear crept over her sore and bruised body. It mingled with the pain settling in her muscles. Her breath quickened as a hundred different thoughts ran through her head. For each disturbing question that sprang up in her mind, an equally frightening answer came. While her father didn’t take her for a genius, she wasn’t stupid. The chain, the bed, her absence of clothes… His intentions were clear.

 _Breathe, Vanya. Breathe._ She repeated silently like a prayer. 

The phrase worked for a few moments, until she heard footsteps outside the door. She hastily grabbed at the sheets and pulled them back over her. Her eyes squeezed themselves shut. Perhaps if she pretended to still be out cold, she could buy more time to figure out how she would escape. She bit her lip one last time to still her heaving chest and the door creaked open. 

She listened as her father entered and lock the door behind himself. He was humming very quietly to himself. She could make out his movements a bit thanks to it. No thuds, which meant he was barefoot or at least in socks. He passed by the bed at first, going over to what she believed was a dresser, and retrieved something from a drawer. As he closed it, he spoke.

“I know you are awake, Number Seven.” 

She didn’t respond. _No you don’t._

“Pretending, are you? Did you forget I raised you?” 

_No, which makes everything ten times worse._

He crossed the room and set something metallic atop the nightstand with a clank. Vanya couldn’t help but tense as she felt him sit on the edge of the bed close to her. The mattress dipped under his weight and she felt herself shift limply towards him. She steeled herself as a hand pulled the sheet from her slowly. Her nipples hardened at the sensation and she cursed herself.

Once the sheet was pulled to her shins, the same hand glided its way back up to her lower belly. It caressed the soft skin there for a couple of seconds before dragging upwards again.

“I’m your father. I know when you are faking it.” The hand came to a stop on her clavicle before it removed itself, but only to land on her jaw. He squeezed a warning, telling her to give up the charade.

And very reluctantly, she did. She opened her eyes and glared up at her father. His expression was a frustrating neutrality bordering on apathy. He had washed and changed in the time she was out. He wore a fresh dress shirt, sleeves rolled, with pinstripe charcoal pants. He was working a clean handkerchief into his pocket with his free hand. 

Vanya noted his monocle was still absent. She looked at the nightstand and there it was, glinting in the lamplight.

In a small voice, she spoke. “This is wrong, _dad_.” She emphasized, hoping it would make him rethink his plans. “I’m…I’m only fifteen.”

He released her jaw and laid it atop her thigh. His fingers idly traced small circles. “Old enough for marriage in some places. Certainly old enough to know better than to try and escape a locked room with bound hands.” 

Vanya felt her cheeks redden, remembering her failed attempt. She winced at the memory of his cane hitting her back. She sat up, slid away from him abruptly, and pulled her legs to her chest. The chain attached to her ankle followed.

His eyes flitted towards the cuff. “Do you like it? Not my best improvisation, but what do I tell the others every day? _Adapt._ I borrowed the chain from Luther’s training room and the cuff…” He chuckled, voice trailing. “Well, that is for another day.” 

Her eyes darted back to her father’s face. He looked genuinely pleased with himself. He spoke to her as if this was a normal conversation, as if she was not naked and chained in his bed. Like he was explaining the latest mission strategy. Her chest tightened in anger and fear, but a deep sadness as well. The depravity of the situation didn’t even register with him. 

He hefted himself onto the bed and crawled towards her. She shrank away, naturally, and whimpered as he grabbed at her leg and arm. He yanked hard, succeeded in pulling her towards the center of the bed on her back. “Keep still. Do not resist. We are in the final stages of your punishment.” His voice was unsettlingly gentle, given his words. Reginald ran the back of his hand across her stomach and his eyes followed. 

Vanya felt her entire body tremble. She clutched the sheets, unable to still herself.

His hand slid further down to cup the palm to her privates. His fingertips brushed along her folds achingly slow and deliberate. A single finger pressed harder than the others which drew a gasp from Vanya. His disinterested expression gave way to a smug smile. 

“Of course, there may be a point where you do not want it to end.”

Vanya frowned and bit her lip to halt the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. 

Her father moved to lay to her left. The hand and arm not lazily stroking her bent beneath him to support his weight. Her head turned to peer up at him. He was positioned further up on the bed just slightly, leveling her eyes at his neck and shoulders. Her eyes shut as the finger pressing against her worked through her folds.

“Already wet…” He whispered.

The finger dipped into her warmth. It was barely in her but enough to make her hips jerk. It pushed deeper and she groaned. Her stomach twisted, thinking vividly of his handiwork earlier. The finger slid further into her and hooked upwards to curl into a ‘come hither’ motion. A pitiful mewl escaped her and she pressed her forehead against his chest.

He worked his finger in and out of her steadily. She panted into his shirt and gripped the sheets tighter and tighter. Keeping still was proving difficult when a sick part of her wanted to spread her legs further. The heat that pooled in her stomach was a familiar ache. Her body was responding exactly as her father wanted and it disgusted her.

His finger slid out of her abruptly with a wet noise. Vanya’s eyes flew open to watch him move from her side to between her legs. He flattened himself out, an arm snaking beneath each of her thighs, and pulled her hips towards him to close the gap between her sex and his mouth. 

Vanya inhaled sharply through her teeth and immediately attempted to pull away. Her father’s arms remained steadfast in their hold and a hand pressed over her ribcage.

“Dad, please, stop.” Everything he had done was gross, but this…this was a new low for her. She winced and wriggled beneath his grip, uncomfortable to know and feel his mouth on her privates. 

He ignored her. His tongue repeatedly ran up and down her opening in one fluid motion. It occasionally explored her deeper, like his finger had done, but it kept returning to something solid yet workable. Every time he hit it, even barely, it sent a wave of pleasure through her and made her legs quake. She muscles contracted wildly around nothing and she felt the pressure building to a crescendo.

“Dad!“ She sobbed.

A hand left her leg and fell to join his mouth at once. Below the spot where he licked, he slid in a finger. And then another. Vanya stretched uncomfortably and let a cry slip from her. The tension within her fell some.

He responded in a whisper against her. “Hush, if you can’t take _this_ …” 

Her head filled in the blanks and they left an acidic taste in her mouth.

Her father continued to experiment with the two digits, alternating between thrusting and scissoring them apart to stretch her, all the while still lapping at her.

Eventually, to her disgust, the pain faded. Wet, fleshy noises accompanied his fingers whenever they moved. The rhythm was borderline mesmerizing. Vanya’s body would not stop trembling or twitching. Her breaths came in increasingly shallow pants.

He praised her every few moments, words buzzing against her lips. He remarked how wet she was and how she liked it. Her eyes fluttered open each time he spoke, the humming sensation drove her mad. Desperate noises that felt completely foreign to her were spilling out of her more frequently. The pressure was reaching another peak. 

It was so aggravatingly and horrifically close. Her abdomen felt tighter than a drum and she writhed against his fingers and mouth. “Dad! It’s—I’m—“ She whined through clenched teeth.

His mouth fell away and she sobbed at the loss of heat. His fingers did not stop.

“Ah, ah, d-dad,” She stuttered. Her arms at some point had slid up above her head and under the pillows. She clutched, white-knuckled, at them. She felt compelled to grab his hair as he had done hers earlier, but she didn’t dare touch him. 

“ _Daddy!_ ”

The word prompted a wicked laugh from below which only brought her closer to the invisible edge. He continued the unrelenting pace with his fingers. 

Just as powerful as it came before, her orgasm sent her reeling. Vanya was dimly aware that she was crying out in both pleasure and terror. His father’s finger didn’t slow down at all and it felt as if her soul were leaving her body. She rode out her orgasm in a series of jerks and yelps, and came crashing back down whimpering. 

His fingers gave one last scrape of her insides before finally withdrawing completely.

Vanya was breathing heavily. Her eyes were barely open but she could see the clear delight on his face. His hair was messier than she’d ever seen and a sheen of sweat clung to his forehead. He stared down at her with a wicked smile.

“So…now I’m ‘daddy’. How surprisingly delicious.” He wiped his wet fingers on the sheet between her legs. “Not unlike the expressions you made in those last few moments, Number Seven. I’m afraid I must ask again. What was it for you? The fact that I was the one to savor your cunt or that you received such attention at all?”

Her cheeks burned and she turned her face away again.

Her father returned himself to a kneeling position between her legs. A hand brushed over her breast, pausing over a nipple to toy with it momentarily. “Do not fret, Number Seven. We are not finished yet.” 

Vanya started to cry again when she heard him fiddle with his trousers. She couldn’t help it. She knew what was coming and it terrified her. She was exhausted, sore, and humiliated. And she really, _really_ was not ready for it. Her mother had always said her privates were for someone special, a gift to be saved for her wedding night. Even if what he had done felt good in the smallest degree, it made it no less evil. 

He shushed her, manually turned her face back towards him, and pulled himself out of his pants. It was already hard and leaking. Vanya grimaced at how he stroked it so casually in front of her. She had to say something. 

“Please dad, please stop.” It took all of her strength to look him in the eye. “If you stop now, I won’t tell anybody. I’ll act like, like this never happened.” Her voice was pitchy as she struggled to speak.

Reginald frowned and let go of himself. “As I said before, no one would believe you.” He spread her legs further apart and leaned in closer. “I don’t care if you scream it from the rooftops of this very building. No one would ever believe you,” He continued. “There is nothing special about you Seven. Nothing that makes anyone even remotely interested in paying you mind.” He placed hand on the bed for leverage beside her head and rolled his hips to slide his cock against her folds. “That is made _clearer_ by the second.” He rutted up against her a few times, voice strained, and ignored her hushed sobs.

He slowed to a stop with his dick resting on her sex, then grabbed the handkerchief he had stowed in his pocket. “Open your mouth.” 

Her jaw trembled but she complied.

In went the handkerchief. The scratchy fabric was awkward but thankfully clean. She coughed and tongued at the cloth jammed over her tongue, confused as to its purpose.

“That is for, well, you shall see.” His thin lips twisting back into that frightful smile. His hand returned to himself and he guided his leaking cock to her entrance. He pressed forward into her unceremoniously.

Vanya screeched. It feels inhuman and it is instantly clear why her father crammed the hankie into her mouth. Her hands immediately emerge from their hiding spot beneath the pillows and push at his chest, desperate to remove him, but her father sinks further into her with a deep groan.

Vanya can’t manage even a single word. _Too big. Too much._ A burning pain radiated through every nerve ending. She felt as if she were being ripped in two. Above her, her father had the same obscene expression as before. He enjoyed hurting her. Bile rose in the back of her throat just looking at him. 

With a grunt, Reginald seated himself completely. If it were under any other circumstance, if he was any other man, perhaps he’d wait for her to adjust. But the goal was not to make her comfortable. He began to move, not allowing her time to accommodate him better. 

Their flesh met again and again at a bruising pace. Each muffled grunt or yelp of pain spurred him to drive himself into her harder. The wooden bed creaked, sporadically thumping against the wall, and the chain attached to post clinked against itself with each movement. 

Vanya tried to focus on the pain, fearful that if she did not, the darkest part of her would allow herself enjoy it. She opened her eyes for the first time since he entered her and made herself look down.

She was full of him. The sight made her felt her stomach flip. Blood and her own slick coated him. She breathed as evenly as she could manage, gazing in horror at their most intimate connection. 

Vanya cried out, mouth still full of cotton, as he pulled out unexpectedly. Her eyes flitted back up to his face but he merely smiled at her confusion. He sat back on his knees and reached for her.

She was made to roll onto her side. He straddled a thigh and parted her legs, shoving himself back into her with grunt. He resumed bucking into her at full force and she scrambled to grab the bed for purchase. A hand planted itself on the bed near her stomach while the other cupped and lazily caressed at her bum. The new angle appeared to reinvigorate him.

The bittersweet tension crept up on her again. Her turned face allowed her to stare into her father’s dark bedroom, away from his sadistic smiles. Everything was…It was too far gone. There was no going back. 

The hand palming her ass squeezed hard with a thrust. “Ah,” she quietly moaned.

The sound earned her laugh. “Liked that, did you?” 

The hand pulled away for a moment only to return to land a hard slap. 

“Mm—ah!” Vanya cried loudly against her makeshift gag. 

“What’s that?” His voice raised. Another slap.

“Nuh!” Vanya jolted forwarded and off kilter from the smack to her ass, and crashed uncomfortably back onto her father’s cock. To her disdain, a flood of agony and pleasure racked through her and her muscles clenched, wanting.

He leaned over her and reached into her mouth. With a rough yank, he pulled the damp handkerchief and tossed it somewhere above her head. 

All of the noises previously muted by the hankie were spilling out of her now. Every shaky breath and moan, every whimper or sob - all for her father to hear. He appeared to savor each one of them enthusiastically. He resumed spanking her as harshly as he could. He peppered them liberally as he continued, and Vanya let a cry slip out after each one. His labored yet giddy comments followed. 

“It _is_ a wonder,” he groaned. “That I raised such a wanton slut. I can feel how much you want this, not much of an, mmph, punishment.” 

She squeezed her eyes shut again and grasped at the bed as tightly as she could. She couldn’t deny it. Her body paid no heed to her mind. Her mind clung to fleeting moments of coherency and although her father wanted to believe otherwise, Vanya was not stupid. 

She realized shortly after the handkerchief was removed that any noise she made drew a similar noise from him. She knew she could not escape this torment, but she could get it over with faster. She was desperate to outrun her own pleasure which simmered low in her abdomen.

Eventually his movements became uneven and frantic. Vanya swallowed the flaring pain and moved her body to meet him better. With every slide, she reassured herself that it was almost over. _Finish, finish, finish._ Her new mantra.

Minutes later, when she couldn’t bare it anymore, she moaned loudly. “D-Daddy!” 

That seemed to do it. With a hiss, Reginald’s pace dropped dramatically, only jerking forward two or three times more. Something warm was quickly filling the sliver of space Vanya felt between his member and her walls. It leaked warmly onto her thighs. He slid out of her, mercifully slow, and permitted her legs to shut. 

He breathed heavily above her, “Look at me.”

She simply twitched, finding it difficult to move. 

“Look at me, Number Seven.” He said again.

When she didn’t move again, he pinched her thigh. This time, Vanya turned her head as best as she could and glared up at him. He was smiling colorlessly down at her, an expression that would appear fond to those who did not know him.

He reached down, smoothing back locks of her brown hair with covetous fingers. They lingered there for a moment too long before pulling them back. 

“An intriguing thought crossed my mind during our relations.” 

Beneath him Vanya flinched, mildly alarmed at how suddenly clinical it all felt.

He grabbed the discarded sheet at the end of the bed and idly cleaned himself off. “I believe I said earlier there may be the slightest of chance for you to be of use to me.” Dropping the sheet, he started to tuck himself back into his trousers. 

“Whilst this began as a punishment for your insolent behavior and profane lies, the reactions I observed were somewhat… _concupiscent_. Passionate.” His eyes flickered downward at her abused and leaking sex. “And I am not so pompous that I cannot admit that I found it to be exhilarating.” 

Vanya frowned and sat up. “But you hurt me.” She said plainly.

“Great things never come from comfort.” He replied coldly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

That sad hope clicked to life inside of her. _Great things._ The words echoed in her mind. 

“While you lack otherworldly power or skill, this is…practical. Convenient.” He stood from the bed, plucking the monocle off of the nightstand. 

She watched her father, who was difficult to see in the shadows and brought her knees to her chest. “What do you mean?”

He turned back to her, face barely lit by the lamp, his monocle set back in its proper place. Aside from some wrinkling in his clothes, he looked as if nothing had happened.

His hands clasped behind his back. “From now on, this shall be our arrangement: Whenever I ask, you shall make yourself available to me. You will be pliant and welcoming. You will mention it to no one.”

Vanya shivered. “Why…why would I do this again? Why do you think I want to go through this, again?” 

Her father regarded her coolly. “Because it grants you purpose. It is as Churchill said, ‘We should be determined to live for _something_ ’. With no power to speak of, this makes you, dare I say it, special.” 

As if a spell or incantation, the word _special_ washed over her and evoked a sudden unearned tenderness in her. She blinked back tears she hadn’t felt forming and swallowed. Special. She hadn't been special for a long time. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time he called her that at all. She had never even heard him bestow it upon Luther, his favorite, or any of the others. She pressed her face to her knees. The pain between her legs was but a dull ache now. It would hurt less in the future, or so her mother had told her.

She looked up, vision bleary with tears. “I’m scared.”

Her father drew near to her again but stopped short of the bedside. He peered down at her with the slightest smile. “You needn’t be. I will teach you.” He extended his arm, hand emerging from the dark.

Vanya stared at it for a beat before reaching to him with a shaking hand.

His hand enveloped hers and his smile curled upward in an invisible smirk.


	4. Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She climbed the stairs to the second floor and headed for her father’s rooms. It felt as though her shoes were filled with cement the way her feet dragged. Her body and mind were at war. Despite the agreement, Vanya’s muscles tightened uncomfortably, a riotous chorus begging her to flee. Her mind was another matter. Her father reminded her she was old enough to make such decisions herself. That she needed to act upon her own agency like her siblings, because once an arrangement was made, there would be no breaking it. She argued with herself. This understanding unlocked her specialness. Therefore, it was worth keeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex-less chapter ahead. Crude sexual references towards the end.

— 9:45 AM —

Before, Vanya did not like mission days as all she was allowed to do was stand on the sidelines with her father, clipboard in hand, hastily jotting down notes as he dictated them to her. They were not only an insulting reminder of her lack of powers, but dreadfully boring for a young woman.

Now she hated them for how lonely they were. After they’d struck an agreement, she awoke to an empty house and breakfast made for one. Her mother broke it to her gently that she was no longer permitted to accompany her siblings and father on missions. Vanya spent hours bawling into her pillow.

Her encounter with her father was scarcely over two weeks ago, but since that night, he’d thrown them into nine assignments. He called it a ’Trial by Fire’, wanting to supposedly test the team on the limitations of combat and stamina. Vanya had her own ideas about the surprise gauntlet of missions, but nothing certain.

After her father unhooked her from the chain on his bed and released her back to her rooms, she had a thousand ideas of what her father could be thinking.

She rubbed at her ankle absentmindedly.

Today her siblings and father were headed for a neighboring city, she hadn’t bothered asking where. All she knew is that it would take them out of the house for the whole day. It put Vanya in a particularly foul mood. At least on local missions her siblings would return usually in time for a late dinner, eager to replay the day for their sister and mother…at least the less gruesome ones. She sat picking lint off of her knee socks on the main staircase and watched as her siblings fooled around the foyer. They were masked up and full of energy, ready to unleash it on whatever threat their father had identified.

Klaus and Allison were seated on the floor facing one another, speaking impossibly fast to one another about something surely vacuous. Diego and Five were exchanging backhanded compliments, with Luther in the middle trying to sternly mediate and impart the importance of _not_ murdering each other before an outing.

There was a lot she hated about mission days, but she knew it stemmed from jealousy. She pinched her calf hard, suddenly angry. Vanya was used to being left out, but excluding her from missions only reemphasized the differences between them.

A hand tapped her shoulder and she jerked up off the step, nearly falling down the rest of the steps.

“Woah, sorry Vanya. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Vanya reeled around, clutching the railing for support, to see Ben with an uneasy grin and mask in-hand.

She grimaced at the shiner over his left eye. He’d gotten it during the team’s outing two days prior.

“Sorry,” she quickly said, the word second-nature to her. “You caught me in a daydream.” She lied, her other reflex.

“Oh, well, I hope it was nice.” Ben took a few steps down to join her on her level.

“Y-Yeah. Just thinking about um, what I’ll do while you are all gone today.” She nervously pushed her hair behind her ears.

“I bet. I am getting so tired of all of these missions lately. This ‘trial’ thing is exhausting.” He complained.

For a moment, Ben simply joined her in watching the rest of the Hargreeves children. Vanya was silently running through the reasons why he would. He was the nicest of her siblings besides Allison, sure, but he had never bothered to approach her alone. He was always with Klaus. Was this a prank? Was he waiting for her to look away for a moment so their siblings could play some awful trick on her? Too many depressingly familiar scenarios for her not to worry.

“Hey, um, I actually wanted to ask you about something…”

She glanced back at him. His smile twitching like he was barely keeping his question in. “Yes?” She prompted.

“Remember when dad held you back after dinner two weeks ago?”

Vanya could feel the blood drain from her face. She forced a confused smile, hoping it was enough to keep anything real from reaching her eyes. “I think so?”

His smiled faltered a bit. “Can…Can I ask what happened? I mean, I know you lied about your,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “Period. Um, Allison told us, but don’t be mad at her please.”

“I…” Vanya trailed off, her eyes drifting towards where Klaus and Allison chatted.

Ben inhaled audibly before rushing through his next sentence. “It’s just that uh, Klaus told me he got up to use the bathroom that night and your…your bedroom door was open but you weren’t in there.”

Vanya looked back at her brother and realized she must’ve looked shocked. He looked at her face intently, trying read more than she wanted him to see. “Oh.” She said flatly, brain in overdrive to think of a story. “That.”

She looked away again at her siblings, trying to buy herself a few seconds.

His hand hesitantly touched her shoulder again. He squeezed it lightly, and she bit her cheek to keep herself from ripping it away from him. It was a gesture too much like their father.

“Dad just had me work late cleaning the training rooms.” She started, turning back towards him to track his reaction. “I had to bleach all the floors, sanitize the equipment, do all of the laundry, stuff like that. I even washed the baseboards. I was up until like…five, I think? It was _brutal_.” She rolled her eyes and elongated her last word like she’d seen Allison do when talking to Klaus.

Ben studied her just long enough to make her think he’d caught her. But after a few seconds, his nervous smile returned to its full strength. “Oh good. I mean, not _good_ good, but I’m glad it wasn’t something…worse, y’know?”

The universe was so cruel to give the sweetest among them the most gruesome power.

She nodded. “Yep. Dad lectured me on honesty and cleanliness before letting me go to bed. It was humiliating, but I know he can be tougher.”

 _And that is putting it lightly._ She added silently.

Satisfied, Ben pressed his mask to his face and gave his sister another grin. “I’m glad we talked. We should hang out or something when we get back. Maybe spend some of our free time together?”

Vanya knew Klaus’s possessiveness would not allow for that, but she nodded in agreement. “I’d like that. Good luck today, Ben. I hope this is the end of the gauntlet.” _I really do._

He gave her another smile before descending the rest of the stairs to join Klaus and Allison.

Vanya released the tension in her body slowly. She unclenched her jaw and rolled her shoulders. She couldn’t let any of them find out about her service to her father. They wouldn’t understand her budding skillset, her father had explained, nor the importance of them to the greater mission. They wouldn’t ever look at her the same and she was already hanging on to their attention by a thread.

As she eased into the bannister, it was Pogo’s turn to approach her from above. He was perhaps as distant and as secretive as her father, but nicer like her mother.

The chimp regarded with a dip of his head. “Miss Vanya, your father would like to speak with you before he departs. He is in his study, finalizing a few details.”

Perhaps she wasn’t meant to relax just yet. Her stomach churned at Pogo’s message but she still managed a smile for him, too. “Okay. I’ll go right away.”

The chimp merely continued along his way.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor and headed for her father’s rooms. It felt as though her shoes were filled with cement the way her feet dragged. Her body and mind were at war. Despite the agreement, Vanya’s muscles tightened uncomfortably, a riotous chorus begging her to flee. Her mind was another matter. Her father reminded her she was old enough to make such decisions herself. That she needed to act upon her own agency like her siblings, because once an arrangement was made, there would be no breaking it. She argued with herself. This understanding unlocked her specialness. Therefore, it was worth keeping.

She knocked on the study’s door.

“Come in.”

Vanya took a deep breath before rolling the door open. Her father came into view behind his desk, writing furiously in one of his many monogrammed notebooks. He spoke to her without so much as a glance.

“Close the door and come here.”

She released the held breath silently and complied. It struck her halfway across the room that she hadn’t been in the study since…Her eyes locked on to the desk. Since that night.

Vanya hovered awkwardly, as she did, some paces in front of his desk. She smoothed her skirt anxiously.

He let her stew before abruptly shutting the notebook with a dull clap. He rose and closed a button on his jacket. He gazed at her, his face unreadable as ever.

“Grace tells me you spend the day sulking when we are out on assignment. Terribly unproductive, moping.”

She shrugged. “I play the violin and read, usual-.”

“I didn’t ask,” he interjected, moving around the desk.

Vanya’s mouth closed and let her eyes fall to the floor.

“Your siblings have completed nine missions since our last meeting. Today will make ten.” Reginald came to a halt in front of her, hands clasped behind his back. “These are stressful occasions for your siblings, I can admit that. But they are equally taxing on me, Number Seven.”

Her eyes crawled up the length of his body to his face. She believed him. Before, when she was allowed to tag along, she remember how sore _she_ felt watching her siblings fight.

“I do not plan to take any more assignments for a while after today. I have enough data. Which brings me to our understanding.” He unclasped his hands and brought one to her chin. His thumb brushed over it gently.

This was the most confusing part to her, that his actions could be so delicate _and_ cruel. That his words did not match his quiet tone. Her mouth dried.

“I expect you to be in my chambers, in bed, when I return this evening. Eleven o’clock. Freshly bathed and disrobed.”

Vanya hated how dull and dispassionate his voice was when spoke to her. It sounded like he was reciting some ancient poem, as he liked to do during trainings.

“Okay.” She said, knowing her face was turning pink.

His thumb swept up over her lips and his other hand came around her waist. He pulled her up onto her toes gingerly and lowered his face, catching her in a kiss.

She found herself corrected. _This_ was the most confusing part. He could be soft, so soft the ludicrous possibility of him being an impostor crossed her mind. But she knew this was the kindest he would ever be to her. Certainly the kindest thing he would do to her today. Still, she did not resist. That was part of the deal.

He pressed himself against her briefly before breaking the kiss and releasing her. Without another word he sidestepped her, brushed past, and went to the coatrack. He retrieved his coat, hat, and cane before sliding the door back open and setting down the hall.

She waited a few seconds until he turned the corner before following. A long breath she didn’t realize she had been holding left her in a silent sob. Her mouth was still dry and her throat burned. She started after him. He wouldn’t like it if she wasn’t with Pogo and her mother to say goodbye.

This would feel better soon. It would be normal soon. She just had to get over it. This was her purpose.

By the time she reached the stairs, her father was in the prattling off one of his pre-departure speeches and her eyes were drying. Her siblings were in a neat row, hands behind their back, chins up, shoulders back — perfectly aligned. Vanya swept down the staircase soundlessly to join Pogo and her mother at the bottom.

Her mother’s arm automatically slipped around her shoulders and squeezed, a motherly smile accompanying the gesture. Vanya reflexively smiled back, but her eyes darted back to her father. She didn’t know how he flipped the switch so easily.

He hit the marble floor twice with his cane, signaling it was time for them to leave. The children immediately turned, falling into their customary march, and followed Luther through the doors. Reginald waited back a moment, tucking his hands into two black gloves, before passing through.

When the doors closed, Vanya moved. She slipped out from her mother’s arm, crossed the floor, and pushed through the entryway.

Ben was sliding the door to the team’s van shut when he spotted Vanya stumbling over the front step. She waved clumsily, earning a smile and return wave from him, before rolling the door shut. He turned to Klaus on the seat next to him. Vanya looked to the sleek town car idling in front of the van. Her father was climbing into the backseat and adjusting his coat as he went. Vanya sucked in a breath as his eyes caught her at the entrance.

His driver closed the door and began to round the car to take his place. Her father was still staring at her, eyes narrowed, as if waiting for something.

She waved. Unsurprisingly, he did not wave back.

The driver closed his door and seconds later, the car pulled away from the curb. The van followed.

She didn’t go back inside right away. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Why had she burst out here like this? Why did she insist on making herself look like an idiot every time an opportunity presented itself?

Eventually though, the chill of early winter forced her back. Pogo had gone off somewhere, but Grace was standing in the same exact spot where Vanya left her.

“Oh sweetie, it’s too cold to be outside without a coat. How about I whip up some hot chocolate?” Grace smiled and received Vanya into her arms without hesitation. She was the only one apart from her father that touched her so willingly.

“That sounds nice, mom. Thank you.”

— 8:00 PM —

The day was as lonely and as dull as she knew it would be. Violin practice a few hours in the morning followed by reading, a quiet lunch and tea with her mother… She spent a good portion of it wondering what her siblings were up against that required the full day. The hours dragged on, but that seemed to change after supper.

On a normal night, Vanya would be curled up in bed with a book and headphones listening to Vivaldi. Tonight, she found herself in front of the gallery wall staring at a painting of a girl in a field. She never really paid attention to the wall before. It wasn’t that she disliked paintings, but her preference was obviously musical arts. She was nestled into her seat, knees pulled to her chest, thinking hard about her situation.

Her father said he would teach her. Teach her what, exactly? How to lie there with her legs open? It had to be something more than that, surely. To her knowledge, he did not say things he did not mean. The way she understood it is that if he saw potential in her she could not see herself, it meant that he had to draw it out of her. So, there had to be more to his words.

Soft footfalls drew her out of her thoughts and she lifted her head to spy Pogo coming to join her. The chimp nodded at her as he came to stand beside her seat. “Good evening, Miss Vanya.”

“Hello Pogo.” She replied. “Have you had a nice day?”

He nodded again. “Well, I did not have to tend to any injuries or clean up debris and blood. So, I would say it was nice.” He glanced at her with his brow raised. “Too quiet for my taste, though.”

Vanya held back a laugh but grinned, looking back at the painting of the girl. “I know what you mean.”

Pogo, like her mother, was easier to talk to than her siblings. Unlike her mother, she didn’t quite trust him. She was fond of him being that he helped raise her, but she knew from her time as her father’s assistant that Pogo told him everything. She learned early to be careful what she shared with him. This translated to generally not speaking unless he spoke first.

“Are you found of _Christina’s World_ , then?” He asked after some time spent admiring the gallery wall at her side.

She glanced sideways at him, unaware of the painting’s name. “Yeah, I guess I am. It’s… different from the rest of them.” She shrugged. “If that makes sense.”

Pogo adjusted his glasses. “She is different in a few ways. For one, it’s a reproduction. Your father wouldn’t want you to know that, of course.” The chimp walked closer to the painting, gesturing to the rest of the wall. “He tried to purchase the original but was outbid last second by some ‘vulturous upstart curator’, his words, some years ago. But given that he’s allowed a copy to occupy valuable space in his home, I would say that he is fond of it as well.”

Vanya snorted. It was odd to think of her father as fond of anything. Catching the frown on Pogo’s face, she pursed her lips and pressed them to her knee, murmuring an apology.

“As I was saying… _Christina_ is also significantly younger than its companions. I don’t have to tell you that your father is more traditional than most. Very set in his ways. His collections reflect that. His art collection consists primarily of landscapes and portraits from the 18th and 19th centuries, but again, she is from 1948. A teenager compared to the rest.”

She climbed out of the chair to join Pogo’s side. Her head tilted and she gazed into the back of the young woman intently. “I don’t think that’s what I meant by different.”

He craned his neck to look up at her. “Oh?”

“No, no. It’s like…she sees something we don’t. Something that frightens her by the house.”

“It is foreboding.” He added.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“Hmm…” Pogo stroked his chin, then let out a quiet chuckle. He turned around and patted Vanya on the shoulder. “You would make an interesting art critic or historian, Miss Vanya.”

She smiled sheepishly and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Don’t tease me.”

The chimp turned to look at her and Vanya was taken by a slight sadness in his eyes. He searched her face for a moment before speaking softly. “You know I think you are a smart, capable young woman, don’t you?”

Her smile weakened. She really wished she could trust him completely. “Thank you, Pogo.”

The chimp dipped his head. “Always, Miss Vanya.” He then began to take his leave, heading for the stairs. “Enjoy the quiet while you can.”

She looked back at the painting. “Oh, I will.” She replied. _You have no idea._

— 10:50 PM —

Vanya found herself staring at her father’s bed the way she had stared his desk hours ago. She clutched at the hem of her nightgown, the memories of the night were still unbearably fresh.

_“So…now I’m ‘daddy’. How surprisingly delicious.”_

_”Liked that, did you?”_

_“It is a wonder, that I raised such a wanton slut._

She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to take deep breaths. He had been so vicious towards her the first time. What would it be like now that their arrangement was in place? Vanya had agreed to give herself to him freely. Surely it meant he would be at least…civil.

Vanya looked at her watch for the millionth time that day. 10:53 PM. Soon he’d be upon her and she needed to finish preparation. She wandered towards the full-length mirror beside her father’s armoire to inspect herself. She spent a good hour in a bath earlier soaking and examining the more stubborn other bruises left behind from the first time. Her hair was brushed straight, but she’d brought a hair tie on her wrist just in case. He’d mentioned her hair was in her face more than once.

She pulled her nightgown over her head, draped it neatly over a chair, removed her watch, then climbed onto the bed with a shiver. Worry began to tug at her thoughts. Would he hurt her again? Did he say anything about the lights? When he said ‘disrobed’, did he mean her underwear too? She was overthinking it all over again when somewhere in the house, a clock chimed. 11:00 PM. She deposited herself under the sheets and braced.

Nothing.

She closed her eyes and listened hard. She knew she wouldn’t hear them return through the front doors, but perhaps her sibling’s voices as they made their way to their rooms. Yet nothing came.

 _Probably just running late._ Vanya told herself and smoothed the covers over her legs.

The clock ticked by, leaving Vanya’s mind to run itself ragged in a few directions. When the clock chimed again, she jumped. Unable to sit comfortably without knowing the time, she slid off of the bed and retrieved her watch. 11:30 PM.

_A half hour late. That’s not like them._

A knot twisted itself in her stomach. What if something happened to them? She looked around the room. What if something happened to him? She shuddered, nervous that he’d somehow heard the thought. She looked back at the bed, knowing there was a chance he’d be in a foul mood. And if he was in a bad mood, he wouldn’t take kindly to her not following his instructions to the letter. Just in case, she hit the lights first before clambering back under the sheets.

His room was more familiar in the dark and it almost felt calming. The light had invited her mind her wander, but the dark settled her thoughts. He would arrive when he arrived. All she knew for certain is that she had to be ready.

She stared into the darkness and waited for time to pass. And it did.

The clock chimed yet again. She strained to see her watch in the dark, but assumed it was midnight. Vanya laid back on the pillows and pulled the covers to her chin with a yawn, watch still in her palm. _Just a few minutes…_ She told herself. She could close her eyes for a few minutes.

— ?:?? AM —

Reginald Hargreeves stalked through his chambers towards his bedroom, throwing off his coat and hat as he went. He hooked his cane onto a coatrack and discarded articles of clothing along the hall. His mind raced through the assignment details over and over, irritated that Number Six bungled the execution. The mess - both bureaucratic and bloody - would be hellish to clean up, but it could wait until the next day. Gods, he was exhausted. The mission. The children. It all exhausted him and it seeped into his bones. His head was killing him.

The only thing he set down with care was his notebook on his desk. The data would have to wait for processing as well and that he could pass on to Pogo.

There was something in his bedroom that could not wait.

With a groan, he pulled his bedroom door open, expecting Number Seven in his bed, but found it pitch black instead. He hesitated and clenched a fist. There was a slim chance, he supposed, she would be lying in wait in a very different fashion. He pulled back from the room and glanced at the clock on the wall of his sitting room. 1:17 AM. His mouth pressed into a scowl. Number Six and the rest of the children would be made painfully aware of his aggravation in the morning.

He stalked into his room soundlessly, only letting his guard down as his eyes adjusted to the dark. He saw her first, a shape wrapped in sheets, then heard her breathing softly. Asleep. He hovered at the side of the bed. His cock twitched at the sight of her in his bed. The sheets were pulled to her waist with her breasts bared. He could take her now, waking her up with a finger or two. A sharp pain at his temple reminded him of his exhaustion and he sighed. This would have to wait too, it seemed.

He unfastened his trousers and let them drop sloppily to the floor. He placed his monocle on the bedside table. Stripped to his boxers, he climbed into the bed, deliberately as to not wake her, and rubbed his temple.

Beside him, Number Seven rolled over to face him. He stilled, wondering if he had woken her, but relaxed as her breaths remained steady. His eyes were adapting to the dark and he could make out her features. She was so much softer than her siblings, though it was due to their years of vigorous training and fighting. He frowned. He would always wonder what could have been if she had been able to control her true powers. It was a tremendous waste.

Perhaps he had neglected her development, became too reliant on Grace and Pogo to handle her outside of her assistantship. _She needs a firmer hand._

__He carefully draped an arm over her waist and let his eyes close. There would be time in the morning._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took more liberties. Five and Ben are still around. For now. :^)
> 
> Many thanks to this post on the layout of the Hargreeves mansion, SO HELPFUL: https://atalana.tumblr.com/post/183540818647
> 
> I return to FT work this week and the publishing pace may slow down because of that.


	5. Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would never be straightforward with her again now that she was one of his subjects. There would always be something for him to hold back from her.

Déjà vu. That was Vanya’s first thought upon opening her eyes. She found herself staring into her father’s bedroom, the dim light of early morning peeking through the curtains. The radiator beneath the window rattled quietly, pushing out heat to fight off the chill in the air. She shivered, realizing the sheets and blankets were shoved to her waist and that the arm of her father hung across her limply. 

She stared at his hands and forearm, a flurry of new questions filling the silence of her tired mind. When did he get into bed? How late? What happened on the mission? Had anything happened that couldn’t remember? The last was the most worrying of all, that he had his way with her and she had no memory. Then another thought occurred to her. What was she supposed to do now? 

Staying in his bed while he slept was not ideal for a number of reasons. First, the sunlight behind the curtain meant morning. If her siblings realized she wasn’t in her room again, there would be more questions. Then there were the facts that it was incredibly awkward and that there was a possibility he would be angry that she was still there. Quietly slipping out was the best option. 

She moved her foot first, glad to feel that he hadn’t felt it necessary to chain her to his bed again. Vanya inched towards the edge of the bed and out from under his arm. She held her breath and pushed herself up, and slipped her legs off the side of the bed. Then a hand grabbed at her wrist. 

“Seven?” Her father asked, voice thick with sleep. 

The hair on the back of her head stood up. She peered over her shoulder, deliberately not turning the entire way around to look at him. “Yes?”

“Where do you think you are going?” He said more sternly, his other hand rubbing at his eyes. 

“I was—I thought I should go?” She tugged at her wrist weakly. It prompted him to hold it more tightly. 

“I have not dismissed you.” He said matter-of-factly. He gave her wrist another squeeze before releasing it and sitting up against the headboard. “Get back into bed.”

A bolt of fear ran through her, telling her to find any excuse to leave, but she complied. All the while her cheeks were burning with embarrassment. She pulled herself further onto the bed, purposefully draping her hair over her face and bared chest. His arm returned to her waist, pulling her snug to his side. His face burrowed itself into the back of her hair and his arm held her firmly in place. 

It wasn’t lost on her how oddly paternal it felt. She’d read books and seen movies where parents cuddled their children. But in this situation, their agreement — it was a glaring perversion. 

“How did the mission go?” She blurted out.

“Hmm,” he hummed against her skull, sending an odd shiver down her back. His fingertips around her waist dragged across her stomach. “You need not concern yourself with yesterday.” 

She twisted strands of her hair between her fingers, unsure of what to ask or say next. He was just holding her there, barely touching her. What was the point? 

Another few aching moments of silence passed by before he spoke again. “Why do you have these on?” He drew a line across the hem of her underwear. 

Vanya repressed the first thought that came to her mind. Telling him she didn’t know was not going to earn her any favor. She had to think of something that would please him. She pressed her thighs together, slightly wiggling, and replied shyly. “I thought you may want to remove them yourself.” 

It earned an immediate and audible intake of air from her father, but he didn’t move his hand from her waist. His reply came in a rush. “When I instructed you to have ‘disrobed’ I meant everything.” 

Vanya couldn’t help but smirk, pleased she had maybe thrown him off. No one ever bested her father, but she felt as if she’d come close to surprising him. Her sudden slyness almost made her forget her circumstance. 

His other hand cleared the hair off of her shoulder and he pressed his lips to the exposed skin. He kissed up her shoulder to her neck lazily, until his lips came to her ear. “Turn around to face me and sit on my lap.”

She had been fighting the urge to arch her neck into the kisses. The touches brought goosebumps to her shoulders and arms. Vanya gingerly lifted and turned herself as told, a bit taken aback when she noticed the blush over her chest was and how hard her nipples had become. She pulled her hair over her chest, a gesture as furtive as she could manage, and settled atop his lap. Unsure of where to place her hands, she left them at her sides for balance. She faced her father for the first time that morning.

He looked…exhausted. Every mission meant a greater degree of fatigue the next day, but whatever had happened, it took a greater toll on him than she’d seen before. Compared to her siblings, she spent the most time in close proximity to her father, even before their arrangement. She’d spent hours taking down notes, organizing files and papers, and even read to him in the car in-route to different assignments. A strange realization crept over her. Aside from free periods and meal times, she was never more than a few feet away from him. 

He broke her attention.

“Number Seven.” 

She found him staring at her with the same level of scrutiny. Her chest tightened in fear and something unnamed. Was he thinking about her the same way? Had she offended him?

But he simply looked at her chest and the locks of hair that shielded it from him. “I saw that you have an elastic…Tie up your hair.”

She bit her lip. _He’ll see them eventually, I guess._ Reluctantly, she slipped the hair tie from her wrist and gathered her hair behind her head. She fastened a ponytail and fretted with her bangs, as if they mattered. She’d been mostly naked all night, but this was the first time she felt exposed. 

His hands caressed her sides as his eyes raked themselves over her chest. They continued for a handful of moments before diverging, one sliding to her bottom and the other holding a position around her waist. His face angled back up to catch her eye again before bringing her in for a kiss. 

Vanya was caught off guard. First by his hands and second from the kiss. It was different than the ones he’d previously given her and it was difficult to discern if it was better or worse. It wasn’t that the others were sweeter or more tender, but there was more pressure. More force. She gave out a whimper as it quickly evolved - his tongue was pushing itself into her mouth and his teeth scraped alongside her bottom lip. Her stomach lurched in disgust at the taste of his tongue. Her hands came to her defense and pushed at his chest, but he would not be removed from her. 

When he broke the kiss, Vanya sucked in a breath. Her lips were sore and her vision was bleary from clenching her eyes shut. She let out a gasp as his mouth fell to her neck and continued its work on the softness there. His teeth scraped roughly as he sucked and kissed her skin. His tongue lapped shallowly in between bites. Her hands pressed again more frantically. 

“It hurts.” She managed.

Her feedback earned her another bite. 

Tears were beginning to form in the corners of her eyes when his mouth removed itself from her. Her eyes shut, letting a few fall, and she felt him inspect his work. The arm pinning her to him had pulled away and a curious thumb grazed over the hickey he had left. When he sat back against the bed, she felt his eyes on her again. Her hands relaxed against his chest and she opened her eyes cautiously. 

He was reaching for his monocle. He casually set it in place between his cheekbone and brow, and smoothed back his hair. “You are dismissed, Number Seven.” 

Her hands fell away and she hurriedly pried herself up from his lap. She slid off of the bed and wiped at her face as she briskly crossed the room to her nightgown. She was scared to look back at him. Scared that if she lingered, he’d give her another painful mark. The soft, cool linen fell over her in one fluid motion and for as thin as it was, she already felt leagues safer. Her hand ghosted over the hickey as she released her hair. 

“Your watch.” 

Vanya turned. Her father had moved to sit on the edge of the bed and held out the timepiece by its cheap plastic strap. For a moment, she wondered if it was worth retrieving, but the minute twitch of his brow put her in motion. She pulled lengths of hair over her hickey and stopped short of the bed where she could grab her watch and keep just out of reach. Yet to her surprise, he didn’t move an inch as she did just that. He merely observed. 

She felt his gaze upon her as she quickly made her exit from the bedroom. She didn’t stop in the short hall connecting his room to his parlor, and moved even faster through his study. If he changed his mind, she didn’t want to be trapped there again. 

She only slowed when she closed in on the cluster of bedrooms belonging to herself and her siblings. She glanced down at her watch. 6:13 AM. The chances of anyone else being awake after a late mission were slim, but not zero. Vanya held her breath and tiptoed past Diego’s room, not allowing herself relax even when his snoring became audible through his door. On this floor, he was most likely to hear her. She didn’t try as hard passing by Klaus’s room. He slept like the dead, which she supposed was appropriate.

Vanya slipped into her room and finally let her breath slip in a sigh. She could not allow herself to be caught outside of the living quarters this early, especially when her bed did not look slept in. She remedied that by letting herself crawl under her quilt and sheets, onto the familiar and more worn mattress. It wasn’t that her father’s bed was uncomfortable - quite the opposite, in fact - but it was _his bed_. Vanya squeezed a pillow to her chest and buried her face into it, reliving every kiss and touch. Her hand slithered beneath her hair and passed over the hickey again. It would not be much of a challenge to hide between her hair and her uniform, but she suspected it was a reminder meant for her. She laid there for some time.

She eventually rolled onto her side and her gaze quickly focused on a small parcel beside her violin case. _That wasn’t there yesterday._ She pushed herself up and glanced around her room for any other sign that someone had been in her room. Nothing else appeared amiss, save for her laundry hamper. It was missing, which meant her mother was likely the one to have left the box. Tossing her pillow aside, Vanya retrieved the box and brought it to her bed. 

Whatever it held, it was light as a feather and offered no clues to its contents after a shake. It was also unsealed, its cardboard flaps simply tucked under one another, and devoid of any postage or writing. If it was from her mother, it was missing any personal touch. Grace was not in the habit of giving the children gifts, she was after all programmed by their father. But when she was permitted, they were always accompanied with decorative cards and a kiss of lipstick. Vanya couldn’t stare at it any longer. She opened it.

Inside was a small black velvet pouch nestled in a handful of tissue paper and a folded note. The tiny bag invited further question, but the three words on the note made her head swim. 

_’For training purposes.’_

It was unmistakably her father’s handwriting. Her eyes shifted back to the pouch. Whatever was in it summoned both an escalating dread and a streak of excitement. She tucked the note back into the box and grabbed the bag by the drawstrings. With a breath, she pried it open and turned out the contents into her hand. Her brows raised. _Is this…what I think this is?_

Her stomach lurched, but not at the mysterious gift in her hand. Voices were coming from the hallway. 

She shoved the pouch and the gift beneath her pillow, tucked the box into her blankets, and froze. The voices in the hall idled for only a moment but she could make out Luther’s serious tone. The hushed conversation finally moved on towards the stairs and Vanya let herself relax a little. Her hand slipped beneath her pillow and retrieved the object her father had gifted her. 

It was a garish shade of magenta and not at all what she thought it would look like. It fit in the palm of her hand and was made of soft silicone. If not for the strange, alien-like attachment it would have looked like an egg. It lacked any brand or button, but Vanya knew what she was holding and it was apparently for her training. It would help her become special.

The word sent shivers down her spine in a way she couldn’t tell if they were good or bad. This was her one chance to prove to her father she was special. Useful to him and their family, even if that was difficult for her to understand. He’d always known better. But a few stubborn tears still rose to her eyes and her throat felt swollen as she stared down at his gift. If this was the only path forward, she had to take it even if she had to drag herself along.

She slipped the silicone egg back into its pouch and stowed it away beneath her pillow in case one of her siblings barged in unannounced. Her eyes drifted to the clock on the wall and she stood. It wasn’t clear if they would be allowed the rare privilege of sleeping in, but she couldn’t stay in her room any longer. Vanya dressed and brushed her hair, but couldn’t bring herself to look into the mirror. 

In the hall, she could hear more voices. From next door, she heard Klaus and Ben whispering. Diego was in his room counting out some kind of exercise. Luther was somewhere in the house along with, presumably, Allison. It was forty past six in the morning and most of her siblings were already awake. Something was off. Seeking to take her mind off of the gift beneath her pillow, she found herself knocking at Klaus’s door.

Klaus’s and Ben’s voices immediately fell silent and Vanya was already regretting infringing upon their conversation. Yet after a few seconds, one of them was getting up off of the floor and opening the door. It was, of course, Ben. A slightly panicked expression melted into a grin and he opened the door wider. 

“Vanya.” He said as if announcing her to Klaus.

Number Four’s expression was one of tired confusion. He was half-dressed in boxer shorts and a crumpled uniform shirt, with dried blood spattered over the front. “Oh hey _you_.” He said stretching further onto his bed. “Do you need something?”

The smile she’d given Ben faltered. “I just wanted to see how the mission went. I heard you and Ben talking and thought I, uh, could ask?”

Ben’s smile wavered as well, dipping into the territory of a grimace. “Uh, well Vanya…Um.”

Klaus let out a little laugh and rubbed at his eyes. “Fuck Vanya, it’s like, five in the morning.”

“It’s almost seven, actually.”

“Oh, sorry, yeah it’s seven in the morning. We’ve only been in for a few hours and you’re already interrogating us.” Klaus grumbled. “Did dad send you?”

“No!” She half-yelled, causing the two boys to look at her with mild surprise. “I-I just miss tagging along. Seeing you guys work up close.”

Her answer didn’t seem to please Klaus. He sat up on the edge of his bed. “So sorry you lost your front row pass.” He stood up and waltzed over to Ben, sliding an arm over the other boy’s shoulder. “If we tell you, will you buzz off?”

She fidgeted, feeling quite small with the two of them crowding the doorframe. “Sure.”

Klaus smirked and gestured at Ben with a nod of his head. “This guy couldn’t, uh, get it up. Five decided to clean up the whole thing instead.” 

Vanya looked to Ben whose face immediately turned away. 

Number Four continued, a hand miming his words. “And that pissed off Diego, which led to a fight within a fight. It got _bloody_ between them, so much testosterone. And who’d’ ve thunk it, it all just pissed Luther off.”

Her head tilted out of genuine surprise. 

“Satisfied? Yes? Good. Ah shit,” Klaus clapped a hand over Ben’s chest dramatically and gave Vanya a mocking, sad look. “You’ve gone and upset him. Best get going.” His hand fell and his face returned to an arrogant line. “Bye, Van.” He pulled himself and Ben back a step and shut the door. 

It was not the first time Klaus had shut her out of his room. She’d been shut out of many rooms in her life. But this was the first time in a long time that she felt like shit afterwards. She peeled herself away from the door when she heard Ben and Klaus resume their conversation, and felt robotic as she descended the stairs to the main floor. 

It was difficult for her to believe some childish spat threw a mission off its course so completely. Diego and Five fought constantly, on and off the training grounds. They had never let their petty rivalry interfere with assignments. Even if their tension followed them off the grounds, Luther was always there to police them. Vanya didn’t trust Klaus to tell the whole story nor did she think Ben would disagree with him face-to-face. _Poor Ben._ She thought as she continued onto the next staircase.

If anyone was in the kitchen, there was no sign. She figured she was early but she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. The ‘discussion’ with Klaus was too abrupt to properly distract her, and she felt her mind wandering back to what was beneath her pillow. When she found the kitchen and table empty, disappointment was the first thing to come to mind. 

She stood behind her place at the table and gripped the back of her chair. She stared down at her father’s seat. What did he want her to do with his gift? He provided no further instructions other than what read like a cryptic warning. 

“Oh, good morning dear!” Her mother’s chipper voice derailed her train of thought. 

Vanya spun around to find her mother carrying a load of table settings, ever the picture-perfect caretaker. She moved out of Grace’s way as she set the plates and cutlery down. 

“Morning, mom.” 

“I didn’t startle you, did I?” Her mother asked, moving gracefully as she began to set the table.

“No, I was just kind of lost in my thoughts.” Vanya threaded her fingers through her hair, her mind firmly stuck on the parcel left in her room. It had to have been her mother. 

Grace looked up from her task momentarily and blinked before moving on. “Oh? What’s on your mind?” 

“I…” Vanya started. She needed to proceed carefully. “I found a box in my room this morning that was not there last night. I didn’t open it,” she continued, knowing she could pull off a little lie with Grace. “Because I think it might have been misplaced. My birthday was two months ago.” 

Her mother did not respond immediately. She finished setting the table before smoothing her apron and turning to Vanya. “Oh well I left it there when I picked up your hamper.” Her smile was faultless and revealed nothing beyond a fixed warmth. “Your father asked that I put it somewhere you would find it when you returned.” 

Vanya’s eyes widened. Did Grace know? Her mouth felt dry again and her next words didn’t come easily. “Returned from where?” Grace’s head tilted so slightly Vanya wasn’t sure she actually saw it move. 

Her mother’s eyes fluttered and she placed her hands on her hips. “From training, of course.”

She stepped closer to Grace, only realizing she was shaking when she reached out to grab her mother’s apron. She balled the white cloth in a fist and resisted the urge to bury her head in her chest. She wasn’t a kid anymore.

“Mom. D-Do you know what my training includes?” Vanya asked. Her heart was in her throat. If Grace knew…

Her mother reflexively moved to stroke Vanya’s hair. “Sweetheart, I-“ but Grace’s hand froze mid-air and her eyes darted to a spot behind Vanya. She straightened up and smiled. “Good morning, sir.”

There was nothing in her stomach her to throw up, but Vanya felt acid pool in her mouth at Grace’s words. She released her mother’s apron at once and looked over her shoulder to see her father watching the scene from the entryway. He wasn’t looking at her, thankfully, but the way he gripped his cane told her he’d heard her question.

He replied with a word. “Coffee.” 

Vanya whipped her head back to her mother, who was already pulling away from her to do as her father commanded. Her silent plea for her to stay went unheard and Grace left her alone in the kitchen with her father.

The sound of his cane on the terra-cotta tile floor set alarm bells off in Vanya’s mind, but she could not will her muscles to run or even turn around. He stopped short behind her and a hand reached out to carefully grasp at her hair and move it aside. A fingertip quickly found the hickey on her neck and brushed over it gently. The sensation did not help with her trembling. 

Her father silently ran his hand through the length of her hair before letting it fall with a small, disappointed sigh. “Even if she knew, she would not tell you.” He said, voice hushed. He came around her side and turned halfway to look down at her with a sneer. “She follows my every order. Something you would be smart to emulate.” 

Vanya opened her mouth to speak but the words died in her mouth. A part of her had always known that. There were moments where she looked at her mother, heard the things she’d said, and wondered if it was really her father actively pulling the strings. 

He moved to the other end of the table and took his seat, eyes only peeling off of her to glance at his pocket watch. “Bring what I sent you to training today. While the others run contingency drills, you will receive a lesson.” 

She knitted her brow as she processed his instructions. “What?”

His eyes narrowed but he did not readily reply. Instead he looked to Grace, who returned to the kitchen carrying a small carafe, cup, saucer, and the day’s paper. He sat back to let her pour him a cup. “No more questions, Number Seven. Grace,” He said, unfolding the newspaper. “Fetch breakfast and summon the children. I do not know why they think they have earned an extra hour of free time.” 

“Of course, sir.” Grace replied before turning promptly to complete her next task. 

Vanya stood behind her chair. A million questions ran wild through her mind. Her father was hidden behind the paper, providing some relief, but the silence was crushing. 

“Klaus told me what happened last night.”

The paper did not move away from his face, but it shook with a scoff. “You would do well to not listen to him, he spent most of it cowering with his head between his knees.”

She pressed on. “But he said Diego and Five fought. Like seriously fought.” 

“It was nothing Number One could not handle,” He quickly replied. 

“But why?” 

“Because,” the corner of the paper folded down. He stared at her with a gleam of annoyance. “Number Six failed and your brothers are remarkably eager where bloodshed is involved. Now, let this be the last of your questions for the moment.” The paper unfolded and his face was obscured once again. “There’s an article I’d like to read.”

Vanya knew when to stop. She let her mind pull itself in a hundred different directions. He would never be straightforward with her again now that she was one of his subjects. There would always be something for him to hold back from her.

Soon, the unmistakable sound of a dozen scuffed loafers accompanied by the clicking of heels announced themselves to Vanya and her father. Grace briskly walked along the table, her tray filled with food. Vanya’s siblings took their places behind their chairs without a single word. She looked over their downcast faces, realizing they shared the same hesitant and somewhat frightened expression. They were not just waiting to be asked to sit, but for whatever their father would say about their assignment.

He let them awkwardly linger in place. Eventually the paper lowered and he folded it painstakingly and slowly, each crease deliberate. He placed it beside his plate and finally looked up at the children.

“Sit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, apologies for the slight delay in getting this chapter up. I’m fortunate enough to be working right now, but I am currently slammed with projects. I appreciate all of the kudos and reads. I’d seriously love more feedback, too. I’m still finding my feet with this whole fanfic thing, so constructive criticism is surely welcome.


	6. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For years, he warded off their displays of affection, leaving it all to Grace. Yet it was not affection he felt when Seven’s body wilted against him in exhaustion, no, it was something older and more carnal. Possessiveness. He pressed his face into the top of her head and inhaled.

Reginald usually relished in the tension that followed a difficult mission. The children were always on their best behavior then, each of them desperate to outperform the others in a last-ditch effort to be spared from his wrath. Yet none of the many missions in their lifetime had ended in near disaster. The Academy was accustomed to facing death, injury, unspeakable horror, and general mayhem. He always endeavored to ensure they were ready to face almost any type of enemy combatant or disturbing situation. But the night before was a terrible and inconvenient reminder for him - they were children. They were _’just kids’_ , as a bitter and traumatized Four yelled upon their return. 

This morning he found himself unable to take full advantage of the children’s fear and discipline. He peered at them through his monocle as they ate their breakfast quietly and sipped coffee as if it were doing anything for him. His eyes lingered on Number Six in particular. Despite his low ranking and uselessness in hand-to-hand combat, he considered the boy to be as much of a linchpin to the Academy as Number One. The otherworldly horror beneath his skin was always the first choice in dealing with a large number of adversaries. It was a terrible match, his powers to his personality. Too often he hesitated to act on his orders, and last night his hesitation nearly killed them all. 

His eyes glided over to Number Five, ever eager to spill blood. The whole operation was akin to a game to the pocket-sized psychopath. Sympathy did not come easy to Reginald, but the way his son dealt with other human beings without much thought was nauseating. When his brother failed to take out the targets immediately, Five’s threadbare patience snapped. Which then, of course, set Number Two off. He was the only one more reckless than Number Five and perhaps more inclined to bloodshed. 

He rubbed at his temple, still fighting with the migraine that settled over his skull on the car ride home. There were a half dozen calls on the docket today. Three governmental agencies, one biohazard contractor, one morgue, and of course, the client. Half the day would be gone by the time their mess was properly cleaned up. A tremendous waste of his time, energy, and resources. 

Still. Even in failure, it marked the end of critical data collection on the children’s stamina. The night’s events stoked a spark of a hypothesis regarding their endurance and psyches. 

He took another drink of coffee and his eyes fell on Number Seven. His eyes narrowed as she ducked her head down and refused to meet his gaze. Not surprising, given that she had to have discovered the package in her room. He made a note to review her room’s tapes to find her reaction. Behind his cup, he smirked at the thought of her demure demeanor fracturing at the implications of the gift. Her emotions and mental state were entirely too easy to manipulate. 

He watched as she absentmindedly touched his mark on her neck over her hair with hidden amusement. Their morning dalliance was not what he’d expected, but he hadn’t the energy to properly execute his desires. It was a shame considering the thrill of their arrangement. He glanced at Grace, who presided over the meal silently with a smile. 

Grace, for decades, had proved sufficient in aiding him with release, comfort, and companionship. He could not quite identify the point at which his thoughts had drifted off course and onto the more convenient, more _human_ option. The best he could remember was perhaps when Grace informed him Seven had finally experience menarche. The idea his useless, little wallflower of an assistant was suddenly a young woman stirred something both natural and forbidden within him. 

To his credit, he told himself, he had waited until she was physically capable. And it was better him than some disappointing and incompetent fool she would inevitably meet as an ordinary person. She would better understand soon enough.

He finished his meal and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. Across the room, Pogo hobbled through the entryway and nodded in his direction.

“Sir,” Pogo said, breaking the silence of the meal. “Everything is prepared for today’s training.” 

Reginald return the nod before looking back to his children. Seven pairs of fearful eyes were glued to him. They expected a lecture, but it felt more appropriate to make them wait. 

“Very well. Whether or not you have finished, you are to change into your fitness wear and immediately report to the training wing. Pogo is in charge of your training this morning. I have the lovely chore of cleaning up your respective _and_ collective failures, but I will join you this afternoon.” 

He looked to Number Six and watched the color leave the boy’s face. Number Seven reached out towards her brother but froze when she realized Reginald’s glare had redirected itself. 

“Number Seven,” he continued. To his delight, she shrank back in her chair. “You will assist me this morning with data management and analysis.” 

With a final look over, he gestured towards the stairs. “Dismissed.”

The children broke from their places at once, all of them nearly running into one another as they sprinted to the stairs. Pogo lumbered after them and Grace began to clear their place settings. 

Seven dutifully waited with her head bowed. He stood up slowly, finished the remainder of the coffee, before taking up his cane in a brisk walk. He passed his daughter by knowing she would fall into step with him.

He opted for the elevator instead of the stairs, wanting to avoid the disorderly whirlwind of the children running to their rooms to change. It was slower and meant their wing would be empty by the time he and Seven arrived to her room to fetch her new toy. When they entered the elevator, he watched her board and immediately hug the opposite corner with a sly smile. 

“Did I surprise you?” He asked as they began to move.

Her eyes snapped up from her shoes at last. Her eyes were soft and wet, but her face was reddening. 

“I will take the look on your face as a ‘yes’.” 

He lifted his cane, noting how she flinched, and swung its hook onto the rail behind her. He took a step forward, effectively trapping her in the corner. Her eyes were glued to him and her jaw hung open as if to scream. He had half a mind to take her then and there, but his mouth drew itself into a taut line. Scaring her was enough for the moment. Self-control was key in their little arrangement.

The elevator dinged and he glided away from her as the doors opened. As predicted, the sounds of her siblings racing towards the training wing were fading down the hall. He led Number Seven through the corridors towards her room but stopped short. He did not often visit the children’s corner of the mansion and didn’t dare to be seen there. He gestured for her to continue ahead of him. “Fetch what we discussed then come straight to the study.” He turned on heel and left her to his instructions.

Upon entering his study, he made quick work of his jacket and waistcoat. He rolled his sleeves up his forearms to his elbows and retrieved his notebook, barely cracking it open as Seven caught up. He saw the gift’s outline tucked in her breast pocket and motioned for her to close the door behind her. He added, “Lock it.” 

He pretended to pore over his notes while Seven fastened the door’s locks and crossed the room to stand before him. “Now, today you will copy my notes from the mission and file them accordingly. You know the rules. No questions, unless something must be absolutely clarified. No breaks until you finish. No going beyond the marked pages unless specifically asked.” He lowered the book slightly. 

Seven nodded and he could see that she wanted to say something.

“Out with it.”

She withdrew the velvet pouch from her uniform and dangled it in front of him by the drawstrings. “Why did I bring this if all I’m doing is the usual?” 

“Ah yes.” Reginald said as if he’d forgotten about it entirely. He snapped the notebook shut, placed it on the corner of his desk, and grabbed the swinging pouch. He drew it open, dropped the device into an open palm, and tossed the pouch on to one of the wooden chairs. “As I said, I have a number of phone calls this morning. I do not have time to stimulate you directly, but that does not mean you do not have a lesson today.” He took a step closer to her and smiled at the way she twitched. He knew that it was likely her instincts were telling her to run, but knowing she denied them in favor of obedience was…delicious. 

“What do you mean?”

Perhaps she was more naïve than Six. It was close. “You will complete the tasks I have described with this,” The hand holding the toy dropped to hover parallel with her hips. “Inside of you. Self-control is the first lesson you must master.” 

Her brown eyes widened in disbelief and she shook her head. “I…I can’t possibly…” He heard her foot lift off of the ground.

His free hand shot out before she could take a full step backward and it latched onto her wrist. 

“Do I need to remind you of our agreement, Number Seven?” 

She bit her lip, drawing forth another urge he forced himself to rebuff. 

He lowered his voice and tightened his grip. “If you would rather I go and give your siblings the dressing-down of a lifetime, I can, although I do not think Number Six would do well under my tutelage today.”

Seven pulled weakly in his grasp but relented. “No! I-I just…This is embarrassing. You’re going to see-“

“I will see nothing new in case you have forgotten I am intimately familiar with female anatomy. You are hardly unique.” He snapped, immediately regretting his choice of words as the light in her eyes dimmed. He’d spoken too harshly - something to note.

“Seven,” He spoke again and softened his tone. “What I mean to say is that you need not feel embarrassed. We are simply realizing your natural talents and sharpening your skills.” His fingers loosened their grip around her wrist and slid down to touch her palm. He took her hand. “This is the first step on the path to realizing your _extra_ -ordinary gifts.”

Number Seven averted her eyes, but unmistakably brightened at his performative explanation. 

There was another note for her file: _Remarkably gullible when one plays to her neediness._

He glanced sidelong at the time and clicked his tongue. He’d treated her gently enough for the moment. He returned his tone to its usual stern tenor. “Now then, there are people expecting me to call upon them.” He squeezed her small hand and released it. “Take this and heed my instruction. I do not have time to hold your hand through this particular lesson.” He dropped the toy into her hand and made his way around the desk.

To his surprise, she didn’t show any inclination to move as he sat down in his lounge chair. “Now what is it?”

She grimaced and turned the vibrator over in her hand. “Can…Can I use the restroom?”

He frowned. Part of his plan had been to _see_ her humiliate herself, but the extreme reluctance thus far changed his mind. “Fine, but do not dawdle.” 

He watched her disappear into the ensuite before thumbing through his notebook. He had taken care to bookmark only the essential notes for her to copy and tucked in loose sheets of paper for her to use. Reginald knew full well Number Seven spent longer than she needed when she was permitted to copy straight from one of his books. He theorized that she lived viscerally through her sibling’s files. Knowing every minute detail, every vital statistic or flaw, was most likely the only way she ever felt superior to them.

Satisfied with his recordings, he reached for his fountain pen and pulled a sheet of loose paper. He froze, hand outstretched, at the sound of a muffled cry. The noise alone caused him to twitch. He stilled himself completely, wondering if he’d hear more. When only a soft sigh followed, he clenched a fist and plucked the handset of the hook.

As he dialed, he heard the lavatory door creak open and Number Seven slip out. She tiptoed into his periphery, clearly trying her best to act as if nothing changed. Her stress and discomfort were palpable as she drew closer to him. Her breaths were shallower already and the hand that reached across the surface of the desk trembled. She took the notebook as well as a pen, her hand following a wide berth around his seat. 

Reginald watched Seven retreat to the settee between bookcases and hoist herself onto its amber-colored leather seat. She experimentally crossed and uncrossed her legs, seemingly determined to find a position in which she didn’t feel the device between her legs. His lip twitched but the sound of a woman’s voice on the other end of the line killed his smile outright. The ache of his migraine stabbed at his temple as the woman’s voice pitched in a series of curses.

The call proceeded as he expected. The woman was rightfully enraged over the actions of his children and at one point, feverishly demanded Two and Five be turned over to her people. He’d bristled at her ludicrous argument, as if he would be willing to sacrifice his investments. Nevertheless, he quelled his contact’s anger and managed to settle their outstanding matter of witnesses. He glanced at the clock as he placed the handset down to see a not so insignificant amount of time had passed. He sighed and pressed a fingertip to the side of his head. There were still five unavoidable calls left.

Across the small room, a quiet exhale brought a welcome distraction. Between the woman’s curses, he had almost forgotten the girl. Number Seven was comfortably situated with her back up against the low arm of the settee and neighboring bookshelf. Her legs, to his distaste, were pulled up to stretch out along the top of the sofa and pressed together. Her finished papers were stacked neatly on the floor and his notebook was in her lap. She appeared to be in the middle of a new page, quite adjusted to the toy.

 _Well, she certainly made herself comfortable._ It seemed it was time to remind her class was still in session. Without a word, he withdrew a plastic remote from his trouser pocket, its hard shell an uncharacteristic gaudy pink. Not his first choice, but it worked just the same. A wicked smile began to spread across his features beneath his mustache. He pressed the button on the remote twice.

It took only a few seconds for the device to respond and Number Seven nearly jumped out of her skin with a surprised cry. The notebook fell out of her lap and onto the stacked papers. The paper she was working on crumpled in her fist. She tore her gaze up from her legs to him, a genuine look of fear and confusion in her eyes. 

The darkening blush on her fair face made him want to vault over his desk. If only he was still so spry. Instead, Reginald leaned back in his seat and held the remote up for her to see. 

“Y-Y-You!” She started. 

“You sound like Number Two,” he interjected. 

Seven sat up on the settee and the writing materials fell to the ground at her feet. She slipped a hand up her skirt, an action he could not allow.

“Number Seven, remove your hand this instant.” He snapped. 

With a whine she complied, hands catching the edge of the sofa. Her hips thrust out in front of her and stretched her legs out across the floor. Her eyes clenched in a painful expression, but he knew better. “Please, please,” She pleaded in a strained mewl. “It’s too much.”

Reginald turned the remote in his hand over and shook his head. “Nonsense. There are only three higher settings. If we stop now, you will never adjust and never learn control.” He set the remote down beside the phone and picked up his pen once more. “You do not know the limits of your own body, but you will learn.” His migraine was slowly turning into more of a dull ache at the sheer sight of Seven twisting herself into contortions over the vibrations. He felt blood begin to pool below the belt. 

“I have a few more calls to make. In the meantime, I will alter the settings as I see fit. You will surely ride through peaks and valleys of pleasure, but you are not to finish.” He explained as he began to dial the next agency on his list. He looked back up to her once more.

She glared at him through parted strands of dark hair, an embattled but hungry look to her face. She was hovering above the floor, apparently having found her perch somewhat electrifying. A jolt ran through her suddenly, causing her to throw her head back in a moan.

Desire pricked at his skin and felt like static beneath his clothes. He swallowed at the sight of her long neck craned backwards and caught a brief glimpse of his mark. He squeezed the pen in his hand hard, only stopping when it cracked in his fist. He needed to model self-control. 

“And you will be completely silent. Understood?”

Seven did not respond, but her head dipped her chin back towards her chest with a deep breath.

“And finish your work. I will take the tidiness of your notes into account when I make future decisions regarding your training regimen.” He added, a part of him delighting in the frustrated groan that followed. He pulled the handset back to his ear and kept one eye on Number Seven as she pulled herself reluctantly back to the loveseat. 

As the phone rang, Seven retrieved her materials from the floor in gasps and returned to writing albeit with a much shakier hand. He would have to replace the notes himself later, but it was worth the salacious performance before him. The impulse to hang up and tend to the writhing girl crossed his mind, but a crackly voice greeted him.

The rest of the calls were much like the first in their own ways. The remaining agencies made predictable and foolish demands of him and the Academy. The contractor insisted on a doubled wage. The morgue tried for triple, although he negotiated it down after reminding them of their own secrets. The client…Well, the mission was a success despite the methodology lacking the finesse he had promised. The client begrudgingly accepted Reginald’s thin and rarely forfeited apology. 

All the while, what propelled him through the fixing and apology tour was the look over Number Seven struggling to maintain her composure astride the loveseat. His free hand, instead of capturing notes on his calls, idly tapped the remote through all levels of its settings in a cycle of euphoric torture. Whenever it seemed she was close to the edge, he’d kill the vibrations completely and leave her to subtly buck atop her seat. 

When he finally hung up the phone for the day, his focus immediately latched onto Seven. He stood and started around the desk to better observe.

She struggled to lift her gaze up from her lap. Her notes were scattered across the floor again, but it appeared she managed to finish albeit sloppily. She could barely speak. Her fists clutched at her skirt and beads of sweat clung to her forehead and chin. It was clear she was desperate for release. 

“Have you been good for me, Number Seven?” He asked, voice dropping to a throaty whisper. 

Defiance lit up her brown eyes, but she nodded with gritted teeth. She shuddered as he tapped the remote up one more degree. If he remembered correctly, it was the second most intense setting. 

His head tilted with a wry smile. “Do you think you’ve earned it?” 

She nodded.

He wetted his lips and adjusted the glass over his eye. “Beg for it then.”

Number Seven’s eyes narrowed but did not drop. For a moment, it was as if she would rather let herself be tormented for the remainder of the day, but her lips pressed together in a grimace and it was then that she let up. “Please…Please let me c-come.” 

Reginald clenched his thigh muscles, but let nothing of the rush he felt from her words register on his face. “By all means.” He held the remote out before her again and turned it to its highest setting.

Seven’s fists unfurled and flew to her sex. She hiked her skirt up and pushed her soaked underwear aside. Her small hands worked alongside the vibrator and clumsily rubbed at her clit. She was undone, moaning and squirming beneath her own hands. It appeared that while he cleaned up her sibling’s mess, she had reached a point where she no longer cared if he was her audience. Another note for her file. 

His cock twitched at the sight of her bringing herself to orgasm. He bit at his cheek and pinched his arm behind his back. He would deny himself now to reap the rewards later. Self-control and patience. Eventually she would come crawling to him willingly, but he needed to control himself and wait. 

With a click, he stilled the device. He pocketed the remote and took another step closer.

Seven slumped in the settee, panting softly and twitching every few seconds. She tiredly pulled the toy from herself like a cork and let it drop to the floor. Her eyes fluttered open and were damp with tears. It was unclear if they were from joy, but he opted to not press it. 

Reginald reached for her and she did not protest. She felt small and weak in his arms, and he couldn’t help but close the gap between them. He couldn’t remember the last time he held any of his children. For years, he warded off their displays of affection, leaving it all to Grace. Yet it was not affection he felt when Seven’s body wilted against him in exhaustion, no, it was something older and more carnal. Possessiveness. He pressed his face into the top of her head and inhaled. 

“You did well to control yourself today, Number Seven,” he murmured. “If you keep this up, I believe we will find the root of your talents.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience. I have roughly 3-4 more chapters of this planned out before the nightmare ends.
> 
> This crusty, Dark Academia wannabe Colonel Sanders looking ass haunts me. Keep it sleazy.


	7. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she played the violin, she thought of the first day she ever borrowed it. She'd spent an hour simply admiring its beauty, perched upon the circular settee in the gallery. She thought of what she told her mother. _I am going to be extraordinary._ Six words repeated like a prayer, over and over again with every note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexless chapter. More notes at the end.

Historic snowfall ushered in December and blanketed the Academy in a pure white haze. Snow piled higher and higher in the courtyard with each passing day, forcing the Hargreeves children indoors for the foreseeable future. The cavernous Hargreeves mansion suddenly felt suffocating, with Vanya’s siblings racing around the halls and vaulting over furniture. The training wing had suddenly been deemed too small for meaningful exercise, and the super-powered world she was denied access to had expanded its border to her bedroom door. 

Her father’s rules on her activities restricted her to her quarters for most of the day. Outside of mealtime, there was their standard half an hour for fun and games where she could freely roam about. Otherwise, every hour devoted to their training meant she was to remain in her room. 

Although they trained every day and ran wild through the house like it was an obstacle course, Vanya knew the Academy had not ventured out on a mission in weeks. Not since the unspoken incident with Ben. When the snow first began to fell, it was as if the outside world ground to a halt. 

While she regretted her confinement, there was some peace she found in her sibling’s constant presence - her father stopped scheduling visitation and their training sessions. It seemed there was not enough separation for him to risk it. Her studies returned to their original scope and but though she was loathed to admit it, she did carry on independent study. Her hands found their way beneath her sheets and nightgown nearly every night. Something had been unlocked inside of her and she could not go back to her old, more innocent life. 

There was one day where she was permitted to roam about freely. One of the only days of the year where the Hargreeves neither studied or trained. Other than a break from mental and physical exercise though, Christmas came and went without much fanfare in the Academy. Grace prepared a roast and fixings that were, as she pointedly described, ‘nothing special’. After dinner, Pogo recited Hawthorne, Thoreau, and Poe to the children from memory. Their father orbited the scene, content to read by the fireside with a glass of cognac. Vanya had made an effort not to draw attention to herself as usual, having positioned herself on the far end of a sofa behind Luther and Allison. She’d almost gotten away without a single word from her father until Pogo ran out of poems and took his seat in the other armchair. 

“Number Seven, Grace has kept me abreast of your progress with Signor Vivaldi.” He’d said, eyes still fixed on the book in hand. 

Vanya felt color drain from her face. She didn’t need to look to know the heads of her siblings turned to stare. She spoke after a pause. “I practice every day.” 

“And you sound wonderful, Vanya.” Grace added, her motherly voice drawing the girl’s eyes from the floor. Her mother stood behind her father’s chair and beamed in her direction.

She felt stupid having thought her mother had a genuine interest in her playing. For the last few weeks, her mother escorted her to her room every day after lunch under the pretense of wanting to keep her company. _’It must be lonely, playing without an audience.’_ Her mother had explained. 

“Entertain us, then.” 

Her body felt like a bag of bricks. Nevertheless, she hauled herself up onto her feet and caught Allison smiling sadly up at her, as if apologizing for their father’s request. “I’ll go get the violin.”

“Miss Vanya, I retrieved it earlier…Your father mentioned he might like a bit of music.” Pogo chimed in. “It is on the bar.” 

She turned and surely enough the instrument awaited her across the room. She felt her siblings’ eyes on her back as she retrieved it, and avoided meeting any of their gazes as she crossed back. Despite being virtually locked away each day, the separation had proven useful in keeping her secret. She was sure one of them would pry it from her eventually. With them now though, she felt exposed. If they got a good enough look at her eyes, they’d see the torturous feelings she wrestled with for months. 

She took up a spot across from her father’s chair and the sofas. “Any requests?” Her eyes scanned over the tops of their heads, as if any of them were going to suggest something. 

“Violin concerto in F Minor.” Her father answered with his nose still buried in his book and glass in hand. 

Not her first choice given the intensity of the piece, but Vanya knew it was her father’s way of issuing a challenge. She tucked the instrument into the crook of her neck, momentarily picturing the long-faded mark that held residence there weeks ago, and took a deep breath.

When she played the violin, she thought of the first day she ever borrowed it. She'd spent an hour simply admiring its beauty, perched upon the circular settee in the gallery. She thought of what she told her mother. _I am going to be extraordinary._ Six words repeated like a prayer, over and over again with every note. A deep, longing and melancholic feeling welled out of the deepest parts of her every time she played, but it was met with an equal force of tranquility and understanding. 

_Winter_ felt strange and unsettling without accompaniment. When she practiced the concerti alone in her room, there was an old recording to back her up. It felt more frantic and piercing with her family watching. They also seemed to be awaiting her to trip up, another reminder that she was unremarkable and fallible. Yet she felt herself gradually lean into the music, the room and the expectations falling away.

Or at least they were, until the slightest bit of movement from her father’s chair drew her eyes up away from the violin. His dark eyes flitted up from his lap to watch. His expression was unreadable. He was backlit by the fire and the image transported her backwards in time. The taste of soap filled her mouth. She closed her eyes and pressed herself to focus. 

When she finally lowered the violin, and opened her eyes, there was only one pair of hands clapping. Her mother, of course, and over-enthusiastically. Her siblings were dead silent, but she didn’t necessarily expect them to react. Her eyes instead first fell to Pogo, but he turned to look at her father instead. The older man let out a quiet sigh and closed the text in his hands.

“Your bow control leaves something to be desired and you appeared to have been distracted...But it certainly was not the worst rendition of Vivaldi I’ve heard.” He stood and the children’s heads snapped to him. He slipped his pocket watch out of its place. “My, 15 minutes after scheduled bedtime. Right. Off to bed. Grace?”

She bounced from her position beside the fireplace with unnatural pep. “Come along children.” 

Vanya peeled off from the group as they rose from their seats. She carefully but quickly returned the violin to its case, eager to catch up to the chatty group. She made it as far as the entryway when her father called her name.

“Number Seven.”

She clutched the violin case to her chest and turned. “Yes?”

Pogo and her father stood side by side in front of the fireplace but with a nod from her father, the chimp left the room. As he passed her, he paused to pat her arm with a warm expression. “Lovely performance tonight, Miss Vanya.”

She smiled weakly in return, but her eyes flickered back to her father’s imposing figure. He didn’t speak until Pogo was presumably out of his sight.

He swirled the brandy in his glass. “I received an urgent invitation which requires me to venture into the city tomorrow morning for a few meetings. You will accompany me.” 

Vanya’s eyes widened. She racked her brain for the last time she’d left the grounds. “Why me? Why not Luther?”

He crossed an arm over his chest and sipped. He peered at her over the glass. “Number One is not my assistant. Your mother also mentioned that you may be feeling the effects of ‘cabin fever’, as it were. Why?” He lowered a single brow. “Have I been misled?”

She hastily shook her head. “No! I want to go.”

“Then it is settled. We leave after breakfast.” He uncrossed his arm, gestured towards the stairs, and moved towards the bar. “Off to bed now.” 

Vanya did not hesitate. She scurried up the stairs and sprinted towards her room. Grace was just coming out of Klaus’s when Vanya rushed past. 

“There you are,” Her mother’s hands laid on her hips. “I was beginning to wonder if I was missing another performance.” 

Vanya cracked the door to her room open and motioned with her violin case to invite her mother inside. She shuffled in and placed her violin down before turning back. “No, no. Something else. Something exciting.” 

Grace followed in behind Vanya, eyes glittering with curiosity. 

She closed the door behind her mother and whispered. “Dad asked me to go with him to a business meeting tomorrow.” 

“That’s wonderful, Vanya. You have spent so much time in your bedroom lately. It isn’t fit for a young woman to be cooped up.”

Whether her mother was simply an earpiece of her father or not, Vanya felt relieved to have someone speak to about the last second trip. Allison and Ben would not have understood. If the snow melted tomorrow, they would be able to at least leave the grounds for missions. 

“I haven’t been off the grounds in weeks,” Vanya said as she began to dress down for bed.

Grace’s near-constant smile faltered for a split moment and her eyes seemed to dim. “I do not recall the last time I left the grounds,” She said at last, before her expression return to its normal warm and affectionate expression. “But you, my dear, will have a wonderful day. Be sure to pay attention and behave for your father.”

Vanya smiled sadly at her mother. She didn’t necessarily like to dwell on the fact she wasn’t actually made of flesh and blood. She slipped her nightgown over her head and reached for her mother’s arm. “Mom, if I get the chance, I’ll try and get you a souvenir or something.” 

The blonde’s head tilted and her eyes crinkled with an even wider smile. Her arms opened. “You are too sweet, Vanya. Give me a hug goodnight.” 

Vanya gladly took the hug and let out a sigh against her mother’s chest. Robot or not, she felt as warm as a human being. She closed her eyes and to her mild horror another unwelcome image of her father cradling her to his chest infiltrated her thoughts. She pulled away suddenly to Grace’s surprise, but she quickly turned and threw herself into bed. She yanked her blankets up to her chin and rolled to her side. 

“I-I should get to sleep. I want to be at my best.” 

Grace appeared to hesitate as her mind grappled with Vanya’s abrupt withdrawal. After a pause, she finally opened the door and switched off the lights. “Goodnight, dear.” She excused herself and closed the door again.

Vanya pressed her eyes shut and tried to picture anything besides her father’s arms around her shivering body. It was unfair, how he could leave her alone for weeks and that her body would vividly recall his every touch at the smallest reminder. The way he looked at her while she played — was it hatred that she felt? Confusion? Whatever it was, it only added to her inner turmoil.

She counted backwards from one hundred and hoped for sleep to bring clarity.

— 8:30 AM, December 26th —

Vanya examined herself carefully in her bedroom mirror. Apart from the brown leather day bag on her shoulder, she looked the same. It wasn’t her appearance that worried her, but her nerves. She’d slept fitfully thinking of all the possible scenarios she could potentially find herself in today. Her father mentioned only the meeting, nothing else, but she truly doubted he would take her out from under the prying eyes of the household _just_ for a meeting. If he wanted her as company for anything else, he was the type of man to tell her outright. ...Wasn’t he?

She shook her head at her reflection and forced herself to leave the safety of her bedroom. Her siblings were already running amok, taking advantage of their extra hour of fun and games. Once she and her father left, Pogo would take charge and run their trainings for the day. Pop music leaked from Allison’s bedroom behind her and Ben’s laughter echoed out of Klaus’s. Part of her was jealous, it always was, but she felt a strange sense of pride as she walked down the hallway and descended the stairs. She didn’t have supernatural gifts; she had a different set of responsibilities and secrets. They considered her the most underdeveloped but they would never know how far she outpaced them. 

Grace was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs with her uniform’s woolen coat and scarf. “Are you ready for your big day, Vanya?”

She nodded and removed the bag resting against her hip to take her coat. “I think so, yeah.” Although her father did not tell her to pack anything, Vanya thought it was wisest to prepare and to try to anticipate his needs. In her bag she carried a notebook, several black in pens, pocket money, a couple of hair ties, and a book for her own enjoyment. She slipped the bag over her shoulder once her coat was fastened and draped her scarf loosely around her neck.

Grace walked her closer to the entrance. “Remember what I told you, listen well and be on your best behavior. Your father works so hard.” 

As if summoned, Vanya turned at the sound of footsteps. Her father strode towards them and was in the process of putting on his gloves. A black folio was tucked beneath his arm along with a deep red scarf. His eyes passed over her in a quick scan but he did not slow his advance towards the doors. “Come, else we will be late.”

Vanya started after him and gasped as he pulled one of the doors open with a hard yank. The cold the mansion kept at bay for weeks struck her face like a slap. She squinted at the morning light against the stark white that covered every inch of their front walk, save for where it had been shoveled. Her father was seemingly unaffected and trudged ahead without her towards the awaiting town car. She cursed herself for not wearing thicker stockings, but followed. She slid into the car behind him and shuddered after the door shut behind her, staving off the cold wind for the moment. 

Beside her, her father removed his hat and beat snowflakes off of it. He glanced at her and motioned at her bag. “Prepared, are you?”

Vanya pushed a damp piece of hair back from her face. “I thought you might need me to take notes.”

His mustache twitched with a smirk. “Is that what you think you are doing?”

Where had she heard those words before? Her face fell and her gaze became unfocused, looking through him instead of at him. “I-I thought that’s why you invited me?”

His smile disappeared with the uncertainty in her voice and he placed his hat back on his head. He removed a glove, jerking slightly as the car pulled away from the curb, and laid his folio across his lap. “I’d nearly forgotten how sensitive you are, after all of these weeks.” 

He reached for a panel in the console between them and pressed a button. The privacy partition rose slowly. “Regardless. You are partly correct in your assumptions, Number Seven. There will be a few hours this morning wherein I will require you to capture some notes, but it will not be the only activity on the day’s agenda.”

Vanya watched as the last slip of light from the front half of the car disappeared behind the dark panel. She gripped the strap of her bag and looked nervously over at her father. 

He seemed to read her thoughts. “Calm yourself,” He produced a billfold from his coat and thumbed through a few bills. “I count myself neither monstrous or oblivious, which is why, to rectify the few weeks of near-isolation you’ve experienced, I will allow you to spend a considerable amount of time at a museum for educational recreation.” He held out a $20 bill.

Her eyes widened. What money she had squirreled away in her bag was what she found between sofa cushions – maybe a few dollars in change. Her father did not give them an allowance or monetary gifts. Ever. She took it and examined the bill in her hand. “Thanks dad.” She said quietly before tucking the bills into her inner pocket. “Which one? Are they even open today?” 

His head turned away towards the window. “I’m afraid it is a surprise,” He tugged the glove back onto his hand. “A contact will retrieve and escort you there later today.”

Vanya stared at him, still waiting for the catch. “Aren’t you coming?” 

He turned his head back just enough to look at her from the corner of his eye. She could’ve sworn he smiled. “Later, perhaps.”

The near-grin was enough to make her eyes to dart out the window. Her hands tugged at the hem of her skirt anxiously. A budding excitement grew within her chest and it reached her face with a rosy tint. Not only was she out of the house, she was going to spend part of her day alone and without supervision. In a museum. With money in her pocket. She felt like she could burst.

Her father cleared his throat. “I feel as though I should inform you that I consider this venture to be an extension of your studies. Select an artwork and deliver three thousand words to me in three days.”

Vanya resisted the urge to roll her eyes. An essay on a random subject was irritating not unexpected, and ultimately better than the other price she’d imagined. 

The remainder of the ride was silent. A dozen more questions bounced around her head, but learning when to stop asking them was one of the first skills the Hargreeves children learned. 

The town car slowed to a stop somewhere in Manhattan, or so she thought. She’d lost her sense of direction during their conversation and the thick snowfall did not help. She steeled herself as the driver’s door shut, before her own door was pulled open and the bone-chilling cold filled the car. She hurriedly climbed out, her father close behind, and found herself in front of a black steel door with the words ‘Service Entry’ spray-painted onto its surface. The building itself appeared grand and built out of large slabs of stone. A hand pressed itself to her lower back and she moved forward towards the door.

Her father reached around her, swung the door open, and pushed her into a well-lit corridor. The door slammed shut with the wind, sealing off the noise of the outside world. Ahead of her some feet was a concrete stairwell and service elevator, and to her left, two doors with round windows. She took a few steps to create some room between them and turned to see her father removing his hat. 

“Follow me.” He brushed beside her and went towards the elevator. 

The elevator was bare and smelled faintly musty and metallic. The pair of them fit into it well enough, though she noticed her father lower his head to avoid striking the ceiling. The panel of buttons was well-worn and missing more than a few labels. Her father select one such button, unlabeled and the last on the panel. The doors closed and with a groan the box began to descend. 

Vanya watched him from the corner of her eye. He removed his gloves and tucked them into his coat, shifted the folio to his other arm, and he laid a bare hand on her shoulder. Her eyes moved along his hand to his face, but his gaze was fixed onto the doors in front of them. His expression was serious and grim, eyes moving like he was reading invisible text. 

The machine dinged with a soft bell and the doors rolled open to a scene that genuinely surprised Vanya. The flare of excitement she’d felt earlier returned. Her mind immediately recalled the old, secret speakeasies of the city she’d read about before, although the space did not appear dated or unused. Just the opposite. Tiled marble floors stretched out before her with walnut-colored wood walls where a few portraits hung beside warmly lit sconces. A sprawling bar claimed most of the room to their right, whereas a selection of armchairs and loveseats took the left. In the center were several round tables decorated with full table settings and tablecloths. Save for one.

A group of six people, five men and one women, were seated in the center of the room in front of the bar. Their voices hushed as they stepped off of the elevator. Vanya instinctively fell back behind her father as they crossed the great room towards the group. From behind the bar, a man in a gray uniform trotted out.

A man’s voice from the table greeted them. “Reginald, we were beginning to think we’d lost you to the snow. Who’s this?” 

Her father slipped off his overcoat and handed it along with his hat to the man in the uniform. The man turned to her expectantly. She hurried to do the same with her scarf and coat. 

“My daughter,” her father explained as he took the open seat at the opposite side of the table. “Forgive the last-minute addition to our group, but I find I work better with a scribe.” 

Vanya shyly looked over the faces of the other adults. She did not recognize any of their faces, though she could count the times she met adults outside of the house on one hand. They were as put together as her father and had an air of importance. Her eyes lingered on the older woman’s face, hoping for the smallest signal of kindness. When it failed to materialize after a moment, her eyes dropped to her feet.

“It is highly unusual,” The first man said. “This is hardly the place for a child.”

“Now Markus, surely you can see that uh, Miss Hargreeves is a young _woman_.” Another man piped up, his interjection bringing her eyes back up from the floor. He was younger than her father, perhaps in his late 30s or early 40s. He had sandy hair, thick glasses, and what she assumed was an attempt at a friendly smile. 

She smiled compulsively back but let it drop when her father spoke again.

“I would prefer it if you all acted as if she were not with me. She is simply here to take the occasional note and further her studies in business.” 

Vanya shifted her weight to the other foot. She didn’t study business. 

The woman finally joined the conversation and ignored the older Hargreeves’s request. Her voice was thickened with a French accent. “What is your name, girl?”

She looked back at the woman, unsure of how to answer but proceeded. “My name is Vanya, ma’am.” Her father’s face revealed nothing. Hopefully she would not regret giving her ‘real’ name.

“Vanya,” the woman repeated slowly as if tasting her name. “Please sit, Vanya.” She gestured with a gloved hand towards a neighboring table. “Would you like something to drink?”

Vanya pulled out a chair and sat at an angle to face their table. “Thank you, I-“

“I think tea, for the both of us.” Her father answered, motioning to the awaiting bartender. “If we could move on from my daughter…“

“Wait a minute, Reg,” The man called Markus cut in. “I don’t recognize her. Is she the one without any powers?”

Her father visibly bristled at the interruption and dropped his folio atop the table. “Yes.”

“And you aren’t worried about her talking?”

“No. She knows better.” 

“Gentlemen, Anne,” the sandy-haired man rejoined the conversation. “I think we ought to trust Reginald’s judgment and let Miss Vanya alone.” He smiled again at Vanya across the table and she blushed. It was strange to hear someone outside of her family use her name.

With the matter of her existence seemingly settled, the group of adults did not wait long to launch into their meeting. Vanya silently took out her notebook and a pen, and began to record what she thought sounded important. The task proved more difficult than she previously believed. It was as if the group, despite apparently trusting her to repeat nothing of their conversation, spoke in code. Many of their sentences led nowhere as if they took turns to speak in non-sequiturs. Still, Vanya wrote what she could. 

Two cups of tea and several pages of what felt like garbled nonsense later, the meeting seemed to reach a break. A few of the men whose names had not been provided walked off towards the bar and Anne excused herself to the restroom. Markus moved seats to sit beside her father and engaged him in quieter conversation. The remaining man moved to join her and Vanya could see her father’s eyes flicker in their direction for a moment mid-conversation. The man sat beside her and gestured at the notepad in her hands.

“I can’t imagine this is much fun for a, what, sixteen or seventeen-year-old girl?” The man caught her gaze immediately, his bright green meeting her brown. He had the kind of eyes that made it difficult to look away. 

Vanya held the notepad to her chest and shook her head. “It is interesting, though. And I’m fifteen.” 

He raised his brows in an easy smile. “Uh-huh. I forget how old you all are sometimes. Hard to keep up with the famous Umbrella Academy.”

Her eyes drifted over his shoulder to her father and back to him slowly. “I’m not really a part of the Academy… I’m sorry, what was your name?”

“John. Nice to meet you, Miss Vanya.” He offered his hand. 

She took it in a stiff handshake and tugged at her hand, which he did not release immediately. 

John squeezed her hand. “Perhaps I ought to visit the Hargreeves Mansion soon, it’s been too long. Years, actually.” 

“1988, if I remember correctly.” 

John and Vanya looked up to find the other Hargreeves approaching them from the other table. John dropped her hand at once and Vanya retracted it quickly. 

Her father peered down at the pair, a glaring eye magnified through his monocle. “Come along. Your escort is here.” Her father extended a hand and pulled her up. The hand then fell on her shoulder as it had in the elevator, though his fingertips pressed down. His attention returned to John. “I will return in a few minutes.” 

The younger man nodded. “Of course.” and dipped his head at Vanya. “Goodbye, Miss Vanya.” 

She wasn’t permitted a reply however, as her father abruptly turned and guided her towards the way they came. She clumsily shoved her notepad into her bag. 

He released her shoulder to allow her to grab her coat and scarf back from the uniformed attendant, but otherwise ushered her quickly into the elevator. Inside, she slipped her arms into her winter coat and tried to comprehend what had just transpired. The doors closed. After a long silence, he spoke.

“Number Seven.” Her father stared at her as she prepared to leave. “That man is a contemptible and imprudent cad. Should you ever meet again, however unlikely, I would advise you to avoid speaking with him.” He raised a hand to adjust his monocle. “His words may be charming, but his tastes are…vulgar.”

Understanding dawned on her and she frowned. She looked up to meet his eye and her head tilted in measured shock. The sudden hypocrisy was not only astounding coming from a man like him, but rich. She couldn’t stop herself. “So, he’s like you?”

Her father had slapped her before. He struck all of them at one time or another, usually when one of them said or did something profoundly stupid. But when his hand pulled back after striking her, she knew she was right. The fury in his eyes and inability to speak for a moment confirmed it.

The elevator doors opened to the corridor they first walked through, albeit with a tall black-haired woman wearing a bright blue trench coat waiting at the other end. 

Vanya left him on the elevator without a word. Ahead of her the woman waved behind her with a smile before looking down. 

“You must be Vanya. My name is Eleanor. Let’s get going, shall we?” 

She glanced backward to catch a sliver of her father’s glare through the closing elevator doors. Her cheek stung, but felt a smirk work its way onto her face. She looked back at Eleanor. “Let’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am, taking more liberties because I decided The City is NYC. Anyway. I’d like to thank Born to Die for getting me through the majority of this chapter. Just *trauma* things, y'know.


	8. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were each called to a greater purpose, something that would require them to sacrifice their desires and deny their own pleasure. Giving them the slightest taste of leniency was dangerous. It risked luring them off of their path. Seven was no different. She was the greatest liability and if she strayed, the consequences were monumental.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexless chapter. It will return in the next chapter.

Reginald stared down at his stinging palm. His hand shook as rage coursed throughout his body and set his nerves alight. He only had a few seconds to allay his anger before the elevator reached the subbasement. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, releasing it over the last leg of the trip down. It took the edge off and he felt his hands still, but the image of Number Seven’s defiant sneer was burned into his memory.

 _’So, he’s like you?’_

He supposed he earned it to a degree. The manner at which he first claimed her was, in hindsight, a grievous mistake. Letting their arrangement originate out of punishment seemed to poison it from the root. He needed to right the situation, desperately, else he would lose his advantage over the girl. It boiled his blood to know that even with her powers suppressed and rumored away, that she was still a formidable opponent.

The impudent brat. 

His eyes opened with the sliding doors. The others were scattered between their table and the bar, and didn’t seem to notice his reappearance. He allowed himself another measured breath before starting towards the bar. A drink was in order.

“There you are Reginald,” Anne greeted him as she took a martini from the bartender. “John told us your daughter had to leave, a pity.” 

“If you say so.” He eyed his associate, searching her face for the smallest signal of derision. Finding none, he gave his order. “Hine.” He turned and leaned against the bar beside the lone woman of the group and looked over the other men, but he felt her eyes watching him carefully.

“Forgive me if I did not seem welcoming to your daughter. But I think it was a nice thing to invite her,” Anne said quietly. “I cannot imagine it is an easy life, having six super-powered siblings.” 

Commiseration was neither his strength nor one of his interests, but he would play along. “No, it is not.” Reginald turned as his drink was set atop the bar. He swirled the amber-colored brandy and took a taste. He tongued his lip and briefly thought of Seven staring at him over her violin. “But she is not an easy one to rear. She is hardly appreciative of the investments I have made in her education and lifestyle.”

“Teenagers rarely are.” Anne let out a dry laugh and looked towards their colleagues. “When my daughter was Vanya’s age, she was highly capricious. Entirely set on finding every reason to hate me one moment, yet completely reverent the next.” 

_Reverent._ Should he be so lucky. 

“What did you do to influence her favor?” He asked, peering at Anne.

She let out another tinny laugh and raised her eyebrows in faux shock. “Am I mistaken or is the Sir Hargreeves asking for _advice_?” She turned to face him at the bar and set her drink down. With a gloved hand, she reached out and patted his arm. “You built an empire and are in the process of raising supernatural children. What could I possibly know that you do not?”

He did not like to be teased. His mouth flattened itself into a frustrated line, but he turned to face her as well. He lowered his voice. “I am merely curious if there is an appropriate course of engagement I have not considered.”

Anne seemed to recognize the severity in his tone, and the amused look on her face vanished. “It was not my intention to offend you, Reginald. Apologies.” She removed her hand from his arm and took up her glass. “When it comes to handling fickle and flighty adolescents, I recommend this: spare the rod. Swallow your pride a bit, play nice, and let them come to you.”

The suggestion brought a bitter taste to his mouth. His first instinct was to reject the well-intentioned advice, but Number Four’s outburst all those weeks ago echoed faintly in the back of his mind. Perhaps it was in his best interest to indulge Number Seven, just a bit. He turned away from Anne. “I will consider it.” 

“I hope so. Your Vanya seems…fragile.” She pushed off the bar first and started towards their seats. 

She didn’t know how right she was, but he had no intention of telling her so. Reginald followed the woman back to his seat at the table and rejoined the group. 

John took his place beside him, the same smug smile on his face. “I hope we didn’t scare Vanya off. Such a sweet thing.”

Reginald clenched his jaw and stilled the rage lingering just beneath his skin. He regarded the younger man with a dark smile. He was not one to fantasize, but the thought of relieving John of his incisors gave him great pleasure. “Stevens. Tread carefully.”

The other man dropped his chin into his hand, lazily leaning his elbow on the table. “All I am saying is that she seemed nice if not a little naive. Innocent-like.” 

Reginald stiffened at the word, and his eyes narrowed. “You were sent as an emissary, correct? On behalf of your father? Tell me, do you keep him apprised of your other hobbies?”

The other man simply showed his teeth in a wider grin. He gestured at Reginald with a half empty highball, “No, but I’ve been meaning to ask you about our shared interest.” 

For the second time that day, Reginald found himself at a brief loss for words. 

Mercifully, across the table, Markus cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, if you are quite finished…We’ve yet to discuss Florida.”

“My apologies Mark, please continue.” John said, eyes finally leaving Reginald in a short laugh.

Reginald peeled his eyes away from the younger man and balled a fist beneath the table. He took a breath and counted down. He would not let the overgrown and repugnant offspring of a lesser man affect him any further. He would have to wait. There were more pressing issues at hand - namely bringing Number Seven to heel.  
—  
Vanya’s face pressed to the glass, eyes straining to see through the thick snow to deduce her location. The car had pulled up in front of yet another service door. It was unmarked save for a keypad, and blended in with the black paneled exterior wall. Eleanor exited first, bright blue coat a stark contrast to the dark building, and opened Vanya’s door. 

“We’re here!” She shouted, a bit too chipper for Vanya’s taste. 

During the car ride, Eleanor revealed very little as to her identity and how she knew Vanya’s father. What Vanya did learn is that Eleanor was an assistant curator of some sorts, and decidedly not a fan of winter. She was nice enough, but not nice enough to distract Vanya from her own thoughts.

Regret did not quite cover her feelings about her comment to her father. Apologetic did not fit either, because she simply wasn’t, though she predicted she would need to swallow her pride. She was certain that she had beat her father at his own game, but she pondered the cost. She passed a hand over her cheek as she stepped out of the car and onto the snowy sidewalk. He’d likely hit her again, but that was nothing new. Fear gripped her heart at the thought that he would bypass her completely and take it out on the others. 

Eleanor pulled her in through the service entry and into another mysterious corridor, this time one that was warm and smelled faintly chemical. The woman did not slow though as she guided Vanya through the first door and into a dark, cement room. It gave her slight pause, but as the pair walked on, melting snow leaving a trail of droplets behind them, lights above them flickered on revealing dozens of crates. They were all shapes and sizes and created a maze-like pathway through the space. Eleanor said nothing, which was slightly concerning given her earlier monologue, but Vanya didn’t have much of a choice but to follow. 

The storage room gave way to a short hallway and a stairwell. They climbed a single flight, took another door, and entered an open office floor. Great black slab tables were scattered across the room and various equipment sat atop them. It looked like a lab or workshop of some kind, with smaller hand tools neatly organized on a pegboard wall and plexiglass panels separating each workspace. 

“Conservation Department,” Eleanor revealed as they neared the next door, shooting a glance back at Vanya with a smile. “Lots of magic happens in this room.” 

They passed through another suite of offices before finally entering into an atrium where Vanya realized where she was at last.

“Is this…Are we…?” Her eyes widened and she spun in a slow circle, taking in her surroundings.

Eleanor withdrew a lanyard from a coat pocket and held out a plastic card. “The Museum of Modern Art.” 

Vanya took the visitor pass and began to unbutton her coat. “This is…Unexpected.”

The older woman nodded. “I can see that. Sir Hargreeves doesn’t seem like the kind of the guy to appreciate our collections, and yet…” She laughed softly and retrieved a second badge. She unfastened her coat and clipped it to the blouse beneath. “Anyways Vanya, this is where you and I part ways for now. I’ve got a bit of work to do before we reopen tomorrow, but you are free to look around.” She draped her coat over her arm and pooled her dark hair to one shoulder. 

Vanya’s eyes lingered on Eleanor’s exposed neck, but she caught herself after a moment. She felt herself blush and she fixed her eyes onto the woman’s face. “Really? I can go anywhere?”

Eleanor laughed again, “Well, not _everywhere_. But there will be signs to direct you. The usual museum-y rules apply. Don’t touch anything and don’t accidentally sit on a sculpture…Oh, you might see some maintenance folks or even another curator, but they shouldn’t bother you as long as you’re wearing that badge.” 

She looked down at the pass and adjusted it so that it fell over the strap of her bag. “Got it.”

Eleanor began to walk towards the elevator. “If you do need anything though, go down to first floor member’s desk, okay?” 

“Okay and, um, thank you!” Vanya gave a small wave. Eleanor disappeared behind the elevator doors and suddenly she was quite alone. Kind of. Alone- _ish_ in one of the best museums of the world. No Diego to mock her, no Klaus to make obscene jokes, no Luther to ask million dumb questions…And no dad to looking over her shoulder. 

She wandered towards a kiosk of visitor maps and plucked one of the glossy pamphlets from its place. She thumbed through the pages and scanned through the list of exhibitions. There were too many to choose from. She glanced at her watch - _1:20 PM_. Her father had said she would spend a ‘considerable’ amount of time at the museum, which meant hours. She tucked the map into her bag and turned in a circle again.

“I guess I’ll just start from the beginning.”

— 5:22 PM —

Reginald was the last to leave as per tradition. Last to arrive, last to leave. He said his goodbyes as cordially as he could after hours of deliberation and argument, no thanks to the younger Stevens. Fortunately John had left second, just behind Markus. Anne followed John, but made a point to say goodbye to him and apologize once more. He’d waved her off and tucked the day’s materials into his folio. 

In the service elevator, he relived the earlier moment of frustration with Number Seven. Did he regret striking her? Not necessarily. He regretted the loss of control over his temper. Seven should not have had the effect on him that she did. She’d put hooks on him and stretched his already thin patience to the point of breaking. The bell dinged and the doors opened with a soft swoosh, prompting him to start pulling on his gloves and hat. 

It was already dark on the street, but the town car was warm and waiting for him. He climbed in and let his thoughts consume his attention. Anne’s advice pushed the forefront of his mind. _Spare the rod._ Therein was another issue with her guidance - he did not believe in spoiling Number Seven or any of the other children. They were each called to a greater purpose, something that would require them to sacrifice their desires and deny their own pleasure. Giving them the slightest taste of leniency was dangerous. It risked luring them off of their path. Seven was no different. She was the greatest liability and if she strayed, the consequences were monumental.

Still, he supposed Seven would be lost regardless if he did not acquiesce. 

The Pham woman was waiting for him when he arrived. She was an overly-familiar slip of a thing, but unlike Stevens, preferable to her senior. More amiable to his odd requests. 

“Sir Hargreeves, nice to see you again.”

“Miss Pham.” He replied simply, eyes darting around the wide entrance of the museum. He removed his hat, gloves, and coat, and handed them over.

“May I hold onto that for you as well?” She gestured, arms full, at the document case under his arm. 

“I think not. Where is she?” 

“Maintenance person ran into her on the fifth floor a half hour ago. She’s been taking her time, sir, but I’m afraid the building must close by six.” Eleanor shifted his belongings to one arm and held out a pass. 

He eyed her for a moment, causing her to retract the lanyard. He moved towards the elevators. “Understood. I shall fetch her and return here.” 

He took the elevator ride to further compose himself. Whatever mood he found her in, he needed to control the moment. He stalked through the empty and silent galleries with measured apprehension. An old fear rattled around in the back of his head where silence and Number Seven were concerned, but he pressed onward through the spacious rooms of paintings and portraits until he found her.

She hadn’t noticed him yet. She stood, eyes fixed and rapt on some painting before her, hands clasped at the small of her back. Her coat, scarf, and bag were in a pile on one of the black benches in the center of the room. Reginald hung back for a moment in the next room, somewhat transfixed by the sight. 

He stood there for a few moments before clearing his throat. She jumped and reeled around to find him. A tension stirred within him at the sight of the color draining from her face. He smiled and started towards her, glancing momentarily up at the painting she had been observing. 

“So, you are a fan of Mr. Wyeth.” He gestured at the artwork and looked down at her, delighting in how she scrambled for an answer.

She turned back to the painting, hunching slightly as if to make herself smaller. “Y-Yes.”

“I attempted to purchase this exact artwork what feels like a lifetime ago, but was outbid by a-“

“A ‘vulturous upstart curator’.” She interjected and looked up at him. “Pogo told me.”

“I see.” He said flatly, making a note to chat with the chimp later about what else he’d left out in his reports. “What else did he tell you about _Christina’s World_?”

Her hands moved up to hug her arms to her chest. “Not much. Only that it was the youngest reproduction, er, piece in your collection. That you are fond of it.”

Reginald felt a small smile tug at the corner of his lips and adjusted his monocle. “He is correct on both counts. Christina is a remarkable work, as well as subject.” He motioned towards the titular painted woman. “She was a cripple, you see. She could not move her body from her waist down, hence her position in the field. In that era, people lacking use of their bodily functions and capacities were generally viewed as nothing more than burdens.”

“That’s cruel.” Number Seven looked up at him. 

“Humanity is, by and large, cruel.” He replied coolly. His hand pulled back and he let it drape over her shoulder, his ring finger and pinky tucking themselves into strands of her hair. “But I should add, when Wyeth observed Christina dragging herself through that field, he was inspired by her tenacity. He painted this work, his masterpiece, because he wanted to do her ambition of a fulfilling life, something that was considered hopeless by most, true justice. She ended up as the primary subject of several of his works.” 

Seven stilled beneath his hand for a moment before he felt a minute shiver grip her body. He frowned and slid his hand off of her shoulder. At the removal of his hand, she looked back up at him again. It was plain to see she was afraid of him, but something else stirred in the dark of her brown eyes. It was his turn to avert his gaze and move away, legs carrying him to the entrance to the gallery.

“Gather your belongings. We must head back to the Academy.” 

Behind him he heard her comply and she appeared at his side with her eyes downcast. He guided her in silence through the galleries, into the elevator, and let the quiet hang between them uncomfortably. He reminded himself to let her come to him. 

Miss Pham was at the member’s desk with his things. The moment Number Seven saw her, she perked up and hurriedly crossed the room to greet the woman. He went around the pair and began to pull on his coat. He kept an ear open to their conversation.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Vanya?”

“Yes, thank you so much, Eleanor. I could spend a whole day in here.”

“Maybe we will have to schedule that sometime.”

“I can’t believe I had the place to myself.”

“You should thank your father for that. He arranged it, I just had the keys.”

He turned to see Pham gesture towards him and Number Seven’s face redden. The girl twisted back towards the curator and throw her arms around her guide. Eleanor shot him a surprised look but returned the embrace. 

“You are welcome any time, Vanya.” Pham said softly before releasing Seven.

“Come along now. The weather has not improved.” Reginald said as he tucked his scarf into the front of his coat.

Seven pulled on her coat and scarf, then reluctantly returned to his side.

“Good evening, Miss Pham.” He said with a short dip of his head before heading towards the main entrance with Seven in tow.

He climbed into the car first and watched Seven seemingly consider bolting down the icy sidewalk. But the cold ultimately pushed her into the car, though she remained tucked up against the door as if trying to remain out of reach. He re-enabled the privacy panel and the car pulled forward. He acted as if he did not notice her panicked demeanor, and cast his eyes out his window. He listened as she adjusted herself in her seat. 

Traffic and the snowfall made the trip slow-going. Both worked to his favor as the silence grew deafening. Seven was fidgeting constantly beside him as if physically tussling with whatever it was she wanted to say to him. Finally, she piped up.

“Dad?” 

He turned his head.

“I…I want to apologize for earlier. I shouldn’t have said that.” 

The remorseful look in her eye sent a lick of heat down his leg. “Is that so?”

“I know you were just trying to protect me, but you-“

“I…what?” He pushed.

She took a breath. “You _do_ things to me. Things people would consider ‘vulgar’, like you said.” 

The tension within him brushed up against anger and he bit his cheek to quash it. “As I recall, these ‘things’ I do were agreed to in our arrangement. And it is not as if you do not _like_ what I do to you. You do them yourself half the time.”

Seven’s face contorted into a look of confusion and tears welled in her eyes. She wrestled with her next words. “That’s just it. I-I’m not sure that I do like it. You hurt me, sometimes. A-And humiliate me.” 

Reginald scoffed and tucked his folder into the built-in pouch in front of him. He removed his hat and frowned. “I shall not deny the fact that the way this was initiated was…less than ideal. But I can remedy that. I can make it better.” He shifted to face her sideways, a hand snaking along the back of the seat. He beckoned her with his other hand.

She shook her head and pressed against the door. “You keep telling me that I have some power. That I’m special. But I don’t understand.” 

With every fiber of his being, he wanted to reach across the seats and drag her to him by the wrist. He dug his fingers into the center headrest instead. “Number Seven,” his tone near exasperated. He let out a small tired sigh and lowered his voice. “Your power is over me.”

She sniffed. Her lip was trembling, but she perked up.

He continued, slightly encouraged. “I am fiercely protective of you as well as…frightened of you. Your power, your _specialness_ is a nameless thing.” She said she felt humiliated, but he felt as if his pride would never recover. “Earlier today, I felt a rage that I have not felt in some time when that rakish boor touched you. The thought that another man could potentially take you away from me, from our family…”

Seven turned against the door towards him. She wiped at her eyes. “I wouldn’t leave. I wouldn’t."

It nearly broke his reserve how earnest her reassurance felt. The girl would do anything for the others if the right strings were pulled. “Yet there will always be temptations. Tests of loyalty. I worry that without my guidance, our agreement, you may deviate and then what?” He tilted his head. “You soften my edge. Blunt the knife, so to speak. Without you, I’m not sure how I would react.” 

Her expression fell momentarily, but she inched closer. It was promising. “I…I just don’t want you to hurt me anymore. Please.”

He could not restrain himself from grinning. “My dear, as I said. I intend to change.” He invited her come closer again with a wave of his hand.

She scooted into the space beside him, but did not look up. “I…I want to be included again.” 

Reginald’s arm withdrew from the back of the seats and slipped around her waist. He pulled her into his lap where she sat astride a leg and leaned her back against his chest. His other hand mirror the other but his hand rested atop a stocking-covered knee. He smiled further at the sound of a panicked whimper. He pressed his face into her hair and found her neck, where he breathed hot air against her before replying. 

“I can arrange that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank the MoMA for having a decent website and for Instagram geotags. Apologies if you are intimately familiar with the museum - I obviously had to make a good bit of the behind-the-scenes up. 
> 
> I really hope I am getting the mind fuckery of Reginald across here. He's not a good person. There are no secret nice intentions here. Again, I am very appreciative of kudos but I would love feedback. Thanks all for reading.


	9. Renege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the last couple of months, she witnessed moments like this before. Moments where his grim mask slipped, and she swore she saw a sliver of empathy. It was kind of tragic. Every time they met like this, more of her humanity fell away and his grew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awful situation ahead. As always, please mind the tags.

After the museum, it was as if their arrangement evolved. The complicated terms transformed and expanded, granting her more liberties and benefits. It was never explicitly discussed. It was not as if there was a physical contract, a set of forms she’d signed, but her father acted as if such a thing existed. How he treated her now…’kinder’, wasn’t the word, but there was a shred of begrudging respect. Gone were his demands for company and visitations, instead he made requests. In turn, she learnt to negotiate. 

Her first victory was her return to Academy missions. The look on her sibling’s faces as she greeted them alongside her father that first mission of the new year was priceless. Clearly, he hadn’t informed them she would be returning as his field assistant. It was a small and brief but exhilarating feeling, to have a leg up on them for once. 

She also tagged along to more clandestine meetings in unlikely locations with secret lounges and ballrooms. She hadn’t been back to see Eleanor yet, but she did see Anne and Markus on a bi-monthly basis. Even John, although her father reminded her each time that he was _not_ her friend. And after each trip, she felt as though she peeled back another layer of her father’s mystery. It wasn’t as though a veil dropped and revealed _all_ of his secrets, but she felt he relaxed in the smallest and slightest degree in her presence. 

In exchange for missions and trips, she of course had to fulfill the original terms: whenever he asked, politely, she made herself available. She was pliant and welcoming. It was a terrible secret, but it kept the rest of them reasonably safe.

This is what she told herself every time she slipped out of her room in the small hours. It was what she whispered when she crept towards his rooms in the dark, hair pulled back into a tie. When she gulped down air outside of the doors to his bedroom as if she were about to descend into the abyss. 

Vanya steadied herself against the frame and counted to five. With one final breath, she pushed the door open to find him already in bed and in his pajamas. He cradled his notebook in one hand and paged through it with the other. He didn’t acknowledge her as she stepped in and shut the door. Further still, he didn’t raise his eyes when she crawled under the sheets next to him. She wondered if this is what normal people’s lovers or wives experienced.

Sometimes all he wanted was a body to hold. It was usually after missions when his brain was clearly processing something much larger than whatever took place. Those were the easiest nights, but this felt different. Just in case, she rolled onto her side facing away from him and towards the window. 

He didn’t leave her wondering for long.

“I plan for the Umbrella Academy to host a benefit.” He spoke as if feeling out for her reaction. 

Vanya blinked slowly. “A benefit.” She repeated. “What kind of benefit?”

“For a local charity, perhaps. The Umbrella Academy requires better press, or so Markus suggested.” 

She turned back onto her back and propped herself up on her elbows. His head turned to look at her with his usual flat expression.

“Markus.”

“Good god Seven,” he said, frustration laced in his words. “ _Yes_ , Markus. Stop echoing me.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…You don’t usually listen to Markus.” She shifted beneath the blankets. 

He sighed and closed his notebook. “Yes, well, if your siblings could execute missions without wreaking havoc and destroying city property, I would not consider it.” He placed the book on his nightstand beside his monocle. “It is not enough to root out evil and rescue civilians, there must be zero cost.” He rubbed his eyes.

Over the last couple of months, she witnessed moments like this before. Moments where his grim mask slipped, and she swore she saw a sliver of empathy. It was kind of tragic. Every time they met like this, more of her humanity fell away and his grew.

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say. He had not taught her what to say when his moods were low, only what to do. She pushed herself up into a sitting position then turned towards him. She ignored the thrashing of her own heart, leaned in, and hugged him. She tucked his head beneath her chin and hooked her arms around his shoulders and neck stiffly. She felt him sigh against her collarbones and encircle his arms around her waist. 

He returned the embrace, which was its own a new and awkward sensation. Vanya allowed him to reposition after a few moments so that she was across his lap, her legs on either side of him. Her nightgown hitched across her thighs but she didn’t bother to fix it. She was resigned as to what was coming.

He didn’t need to talk anymore. She suspected he didn’t need to in the first place. The talk of a benefit was merely a preamble, something she knew he only did when he didn’t want to think about his actions. 

His hands slipped from her waist to the sensitive spots above her hips and his thumbs dug in. His fingers splayed downwards and clawed gently at the thin material of her nightgown. His mouth fell to her neck where he planted long, warm kisses. Her eyes fluttered shut with a sigh and she leaned into the touches. He responded by pushing her nightgown to her waist. She felt him gradually grow hard against her parted legs, and she rocked forward trying to use the shortcuts she had picked up. 

He hissed against her skin and gathered the edges of her nightgown before pulling it up and over her chest. Vanya raised her arms to allow her shift to slip off. She watched him gather the material in his hands and eye it with a fleeting look of curiosity. Then he began to twist it.

“Arms together above your head.” He said softly.

Vanya looked at him warily, but obeyed. 

He wrapped the thin, twisted material around her wrists and forearms and brought them tightly together. He brought the fabric under, over, and through itself until it was a firm bundle and effectively tied her limbs together awkwardly. She bent them at the elbow and lowered them to inspect his handiwork. 

Her breath hitched in fear at the sight of her arms tied together again. She looked to him. “Dad?” 

He said nothing, but grabbed one of her arms and redirected her off of his lap, and the open space beside them on the bed. He guided her gently and lowered her onto her back. Once she was positioned with her head atop a pillow, he pulled away to undo his shirt. 

Vanya stared. His face was an eerie calm with neither a smile or a frown. The old radiator beneath the window whirred to life and she shuddered. Above her, he removed his shirt and tossed it to a corner of the bed. He bent over her and ran his hands down her side, sending a new wave of shivers across her body. His hands stopped at her underwear and he hooked his thumbs into the fabric. Vanya squirmed reflexively as he dragged them down her legs and over her feet. He discarded them as well.

Her wrists rubbed together in their makeshift tie. She desperately wanted to her cover herself up whether with her hands or the sheet. Although she stopped hiding herself months ago, the way he loomed over her in the moment brought her back to their first time, though she couldn’t place why. She winced as he parted her legs with a hand. 

Vanya felt him nestle between her legs and rubbed circles on her thigh, edging closer and closer with each rotation. It was always at this point where her body betrayed her and crossed over enemy lines. She bucked mindlessly against his hand. Something in her held a deep want and as he always cruelly asked, she no longer knew if it was for _him_ or just _something_. 

She was already slick by the time his fingers slid over and worked themselves shallowly into her warmth. She gasped as a thumb circled around her clit. She arched off the mattress in a silent cry but he didn’t break his contact, he only followed her up and back down onto the bed. A knuckle tucked between her folds and rubbed teasingly against her entrance.

He hovered over her and lazily administered his strokes to her sex. His breaths were hot and ragged with desire. She saw the dark cloud of lust in his eye. He whispered, “You trust me, don’t you, Number Seven.” 

She closed her eyes tight and turned her head towards the curtained window. She thought of Christina in her field.

He didn’t wait for an answer. He slid two fingers into her, his pace agonizingly slow. He stretched her and turned them about, as if feeling out the space for the first time all over again. He withdrew them nearly entirely and reentered just as slowly. She whined as he repeated the movement. She protested and clenched desperately each time his fingers left her, and she squirmed to meet him better. 

Above her, he chuckled. His other hand returned to her clit and pressed lightly. The sensation drew her legs together, but their meeting was blocked by his sides. A leg kicked impatiently at the bed as the tempo of his hands rose considerably. Noises spilled from her mouth and they seemed to encourage him. Vanya pulled her knotted hands up to her face and bit down on the fabric to stifle the cries and hide her face. Tension rushed over her like a tide and threatened to spill over.

His hand pulled back and her orgasm lost ground. She groaned and felt the fingers inside of her slow. 

She could dimly hear herself pleading with him, _don’t stop_ , and she opened her eyes. Her vision was blurred with tears that had formed in frustration. A broken mewl escaped her as his fingers pulled out completely. She whipped her head towards him, just in time to see him fall upon her again.

Vanya sucked in air over her teeth and her fists gripped at their bindings. He filled her to the hilt, bringing their bodies flush to one another with a wet noise. Although it stopped hurting months ago, there was still a notion of disgust rattling around her head. Her body wasn’t just accustomed to being filled, but yearned for it. Her eyes closed again.

As he’d done with his fingers, the first few thrusts felt torturously slow-paced. A hand slipped beneath her bound limbs and caressed her breast, fingertips skimming over her nipple and bringing into a firm peak. She moaned into her nightgown and jerked against him. He continued to gently tend to her breasts, and the momentum of his thrusts built to the point where his free hand hooked itself underneath one of her knees. The heat of her orgasm returned slowly and it became harder for her to block him out. Vanya could hear his breaths become shallower by the minute. 

“Look at me.” he hissed. When she did not immediately open her eyes, he pinched a nipple between his knuckles.

Her eyes flew open at the burst of pain and struggled to focus. He leered down at her and pinched again. A forelock of greying hair had come loose from his frantic thrusting, making him look further undone, almost maniacal. 

“Good girl, now let me hear you.” He grabbed at her bound hands and ripped the spare fabric from her mouth. He grinned at the sound of her heavy and hitched breaths. “God, look at you.” 

Vanya balled her fists as well as she could. She wanted to muffle herself again, to not let him have the pleasure of hearing the filthy noises she couldn’t help but make. She stared at up him. A resentment she’d pushed down for months bubbled up alongside her coming orgasm.

He seemed to pick up on her true feelings and with a renewed vigor, drove into her brutally. 

The increase in force broke the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. The thinly-veiled anger behind his thrusts threw both of them off-kilter, but Vanya still felt sparks each time he hit a certain spot inside of her body. The worst of it wasn’t sound or feeling, but how she couldn’t look away from his face.

His hand left her chest and cupped her face clumsily. His thumb poked at the edge of her opened mouth. “Who do you belong to?” He asked in a series of micro-thrusts. 

Vanya’s eyes widened. She didn’t think shock was possible anymore. She stuttered and gasped for air. “W-What?”

His thumb dragged the corner of her mouth open further, nail scraping along her cheek. “ _Who_ do you belong to?”

Revulsion and resentment washed over her in a moment of awful clarity. She stared into his dark eyes. For her, this had been more of a business transaction than anything, but to him…It was something more meaningful. Through the scraping pain and near white-hot pleasure, she glared at him. “Y-You.”

He grinned maliciously above her and removed his hand from her face. It slid down the expanse of her body back to where they joined. “Then let go.” 

Vanya silently cursed herself for not being strong enough to resist the build of her orgasm. Between the onslaught of his fingers and his pointed thrusts, it came to a fever pitch. He whispered further encouragements, which when combined with his physical ministrations, brought her over the edge. She shuddered violently against him and writhed up and away despite the squeezing of her own muscles around him. Her bound arms and hands pushed at nothing as he remained both out of reach and too close. Her pleasure melted into pins and needles as he continued. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her cheek hard enough to draw a little blood. _Too much _was putting it lightly.__

__Finally, his hand slid from her thigh to the pillow. He gripped at it and pressed down, causing her head to roll slightly to the side. He sank into her a final time with a grunt and held himself there. After a minute he pulled himself out, spent, and shakily climbed off._ _

__She was scared to look down at the space between her legs. Her thighs were drenched, sticky, and sore. Bruises were surely forming where he’d grabbed her before and though she wasn’t sure if it was possible, where they were conjoined. Her sex ached painfully and still felt oversensitive and raw._ _

__Tears welled in her eyes again as her mind raced a thousand miles a minute. What was it that she had said or done, to warrant the return of his cruelty? Although their arrangement was far from good or fair for her, she’d been able to make peace with it. The exchange was closer to equal than when it had been struck. She’d asked him, begged him, to not hurt her anymore. He had agreed. Now, only months later, he reneged on his promise. The floodgates broke and a sob racked her body._ _

__He turned from where he stood at the end of the bed, halfway finished re-buttoning his night shirt. He frowned and looked over her, and his eyes settled on the nightgown still wrapped around her arms. He abandoned his shirt and reached for her arms._ _

__Vanya shrank back with another cry, tears streaming fully down her face. They were hot, and stung the skin where his nail had dug into her lip and cheek._ _

__He didn’t seem to register her fear as he undid the makeshift knot, and when he finished, he let the garment drop on her chest._ _

__She sniffed and sat up, wincing at the tenderness of her limbs. She slid off of the bed and draped her gown over an arm, and shuffled towards the ensuite. She felt his eyes on her back as she limped into the bathroom and shut the door._ _

__Inside, the lights felt far too bright, and she didn’t dare look at herself in the mirror. She turned the shower on, and waited for the water to warm. She hung her nightgown on a hook beside the shower and freed her hair from its tie. She sagged against the wall of the bathroom, her legs still shaking, and felt some relief from the cold of the tiles. When steam began to rise, she stepped into the steaming hot shower. She hissed as the water found every sore spot on her body. For the first few minutes, she simply stood there._ _

__When she plucked up the courage, she tentatively brushed between her legs and winced, but continued to gently clean herself. Her mind wandered as she continued to scrub herself clean. She was wrong before. He wasn’t learning anything during their encounters. He wasn’t becoming more empathetic or gentle. She wasn’t softening him, or however he’d put it. Perhaps she’d come close, but there was a line he would not let her cross. _There would always be something for him to hold back from her.__ _

__Reluctantly, she shut the water off, stepped out, and took a towel from the rack. She dried off and slipped back into her nightgown, the thin fabric beyond wrinkled. She stared at the door as she finished toweling off her hair. Vanya wrestled with her thoughts, but she took a breath, tossed her towel into the hamper, and opened the door. She made her decision._ _

__He was at his desk with the chair turned towards the bathroom. He was writing in his notebook, again, as if nothing happened._ _

__Vanya bristled at how easily he relaxed, but the swell of anger made it easier for her to head straight for the door. Her hand landed on the doorknob when he called out._ _

__“You have not been dismissed, Number Seven.”_ _

__She continued. She ducked out and headed into the dark parlor. She heard the desk chair scrape against the wooden floor behind her followed by heavy, stomping footfalls. She flew through the room and into the next, hands falling on the locks. But this time, this time she did not fumble. Her hands knew the mechanisms all too well after months of late night visitations. As she slid the door open, its similarity to a prison cell gate was not lost on her. He called out to her again, his voice quieter but still raised._ _

__“Number Seven!”_ _

__She heard him come to a halt behind her, probably somewhere by his desk. The door was open, but she stopped. Her head turned._ _

__A thinly controlled rage possessed his body. His palms were open and slightly raised as if he meant to fight. Yet, as much as she could tell in the darkened room, an uneasy fear lit up his eyes. They did not match his tone._ _

__“Should you take one footstep across the threshold, I shall take it to mean our arrangement is null and void.”_ _

__She considered his threat. As always, he let her formulate the implications of what he _didn’t say_. The small, scared voice within her urged her to return to his side, that perhaps if she gave up quickly, what followed wouldn’t be so bad. But the ache in her muscles and deep pain gave a better argument. He was a monster. He would not change. He would drill her siblings into the ground no matter what, for that was the only way he knew how to make heroes, something she would never be._ _

__He didn’t call out again when she sprinted down the hallway towards her room._ _

__Vanya’s gasps for breath were the only noise she heard as she slowed outside the cluster of bedrooms. He would not dare come after her and risk waking up the rest of them. That belief did not stop her from placing her rickety desk chair up against the door, just in case. She cried again when she peeled the rumpled nightgown from her body and realized she’d left her underwear._ _

__Bleary-eyed, she stood in front of her mirror to inspect her body. The thought that he may be watching through the surveillance camera crossed her mind, but when her eyes fell over the patch of bruises on her inner thighs, that concern fell away. She hiccupped and brushed her fingertips over the splotches. How did she only now see that she was ruined? And for what? Ben, Five, Allison… None of them were going to ever be safe as long as they remained within the Academy’s walls._ _

__She tugged on a new pair of underwear and pajama set, and crawled into bed with her hair still damp. Exhaustion piled atop the general aches and pains, and it pressed her into the bed like an iron weight. Tomorrow, she would face the consequences and a hundred horrific punishments leapt to her mind. Yet sleep fell over her like a soothing balm, and her dreams took her to the museum._ _

__—_ _

__Reginald could scarcely believe his eyes. Seven looked like an ethereal creature, the white of her nightgown catching the pale light that streaked through the dark halls. It was not the first time diplomacy or intimidation failed him, merely the first time it surprised him. He wordlessly crossed the room and slid the door closed, before walking towards his desk. He gripped the edges and leaned over it, staring down at the piles of records and other ephemera. His hands shook, his mind unable to control the anger that her insolence brought out in him. He whipped up and sent half of the papers and objects flying off of his desk. He stared at the inkwell he’d tipped over and watched a pool of deep indigo leak and latch onto a stack of cardstock he’d intended to use for the benefit. He scoffed at such a trivial thought passing through his mind in such a moment._ _

__And yet._ _

__He righted the inkwell, careful to avoid catching any of the ink, and made his return to bed. His mind raced as he set himself on the task of remaking it, albeit sloppily. He rejected the thought that his control over Number Seven was lost. No, it only slipped. Perhaps he’d become overzealous, he would admit that, but he merely frightened her. Her obedience was easily regained when the right motivations were presented. She was his, and had said as such._ _

__After turning out the lights, Reginald sank into his bed comfortably. Despite his temper, which had ebbed considerably, he considered the encounter successful. He was spent, relaxed, and the onslaught of migraines was blocked for the moment. Regardless of Number Seven’s beliefs or confidence, her purpose was clear to him. Eyes closed, he pictured her in a dress, violin tucked beneath her chin, playing for the city’s finest. The image carried him off to sleep._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a couple of more chapters before I close the book on this story. Otherwise, I'm enjoying a wealth of TUA fic. I hope to explore stories with other kids too, but I doubt I'll write anything this awful again. 
> 
> Here's hoping we get a renewal from Netflix.


	10. Charity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most people _meant _well when they spoke to her. Allison, Grace, Pogo, Ben, and even Five, on his nicer days. But it always boiled down to the same thing - pity, and pity was a backhanded thing.__

If she were to describe Allison’s room in one word, she would choose ‘overwhelming’. It was all pop music, pretty colors, and contraband dollar store perfume, the complete opposite of her own space. It took time for her to adjust to how _soft_ the space was, and how warm. Allison’s girly sanctuary was only a few doors away and yet, prior this evening, it felt like an impenetrable fortress, meant only for members of the Academy. Which was why Allison’s invitation came as a genuine surprise.

_“Do you want to get ready together? Mom is doing my hair.”_

Vanya fidgeted and picked at the white shag rug beneath her, and wondered where Allison got such pretty things. She was barely listening to her sister gush over the gown that had appeared on the front of her door that morning. Allison had spent hours matching nail polish and barrettes to its deep, red wine color. She even found a thick gold cuff to hide her tattoo.

Each of siblings woke up to a hanger hooked over their door. The boys received identical suits in the grayish-blue tone of their uniforms, albeit without the emblem. Their reactions spanned a spectrum, ranging from Klaus’ mixture of horror and delight over new clothes but not the _right_ kind of clothes, to Luther changing into his suit as soon as they were dismissed for the day.

She supposed her and Allison were the lucky ones. Although they both received similar knee-length garments, their mother had taken care to fit them to their respective personalities. Allison’s felt more like their mother’s dresses, though with a playful sweetheart neckline. It fit her like a glove, and not just in size, but how she looked and held herself. Allison was a natural. Then there was her dress. It was a dark indigo blue that felt too bold and dramatic for her pale skin and shy nature. Fortunately, her mother had the sense to give her a modest halter cut. The less attention the better.

Vanya was surprised to receive a dress at all. Although their father had spent weeks preparing her siblings for the night, it never crossed her mind that she would be allowed to attend the benefit. After their last parting, her father swiftly reinstated the old-new rules. She did not accompany the Academy on missions nor did she assist with training. Her studies and coursework went through Pogo or Grace. She purposefully lost his gift in the attic while the team was out on a mission. And apart from mealtimes, she did not interact with her father. She supposed she should have felt relief, to be free of their arrangement, but somehow it felt all the more…ominous. Dad did not forgive or forget. When punishment failed to arrive the morning after, and every morning since then, Vanya lived on edge. She found it hard to believe that he would let things end the way that they did.

“I still can’t believe this is happening. This is so unlike dad.” Allison crooned and inched her nylon stockings up her legs. 

“Yeah,” Vanya agreed with a sigh. “I also can’t believe I’m invited.” 

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Allison smiled at her through the vanity’s mirror and stood to shimmy the rest of the way into the stockings. “I know you don’t come with us anymore, but it’s not like you aren’t part of our family, Vanya.”

Each word felt like a shallow cut, but Vanya knew her sister was speaking from the heart. “I know, but I think he’s…” Her voice trailed and she stood up to face away from Allison’s view. She reached for her dress laid out over the bed. She had to be careful. “I think he’s mad at me.”

Allison giggled behind her. “He’s always mad at us. I know it’s hard to not take it personally, but Luther-“

“Luther doesn’t know everything.” Vanya snapped, fingers unintentionally crumpling the soft material in her hands. She released it at once and smoothed it against the bed. “I’m sorry.” She said quietly. “I’m just upset. I hardly get to hang out with you guys. I know he’s only doing this to punish me for something.” Omission was not lying, or so she told herself. 

Allison sighed and walked to her side to pick up her own dress. “I didn’t mean to make you mad, but I don’t think dad is knowingly _doing_ this to you, you know? I don’t think he…Well, what am I trying to say? I don’t think he-“

“Thinks about me.” Vanya finished. “Yeah, I know. I’m being stupid.”

Allison shook her head. “That’s not what I was going to say. I just think dad-“

“Knock, knock!” Grace’s voice chirped and stepped into the room. She closed the door behind her.

“Mom!” Allison lifted her dress and held the dress to her front. “I. Love. It!” 

“Yeah mom, really great work.” Vanya echoed, silently thanking the blonde for her timely arrival.

Grace smiled and set her hands on her hips. “I’m glad to hear you like them. I believe I’m here to fix some hair? Maybe add a touch of lipstick?” 

Allison, who had been waiting for this moment all day, seemed happy enough to let their conversation die. “Yes! Let me get dressed and you can do mine first.” Her words prompted their mother to move to help ease Allison into the dress, and the two launched into conversation about dress cuts.

“Um, I’ll…I’ll get dressed too.” Vanya watched Allison step into the material and swallowed. She hadn’t thought about this part. Dressing in front of her sister and mother. The marks her father had faded weeks ago, she made sure, but she still felt as though they could tell somehow. The thought must have registered on her face, as her mother addressed her softly.

“Vanya, if you’d like, you can get dressed in your room and come back.” 

She stilled, dress limp in her arms, and her eyes darted to Allison momentarily. Her sister looked at her expectantly, a bit of mild offense coded in her smile. Vanya nodded. “Yes, I’ll do that. Be right back.” She crossed the shaggy rug, passed by the posters of unfamiliar heartthrobs, and fled from the sanctum of her sister’s room. 

The hallway was empty. She could still hear the faint music in Allison’s room, but nothing else. Perhaps the boys were off causing their last bits of mayhem before the evening began. She carefully carried her dress to her door, and nudged it open with a hip. 

Her room, as she had compared it to her sister’s, was more like a nun’s cell in a convent. Practical, plain, and austere, if not neglected. Yet after her near-imprisonment in the colder months, it still felt like the safest place in the house. Content to be out of her sister and mother’s view, she made quick work of her uniform. The dress fell smoothly over her narrow frame, and fit snugly but not too tightly over her lack of hips. Where Allison’s dress rounded into a slight, swishy bell, hers remained a sleek shift. She stared at herself in the mirror for a long moment, surprised that she didn’t feel…awkward. Certainly, the dress was a foreign thing, to wear something that was not her uniform or pajamas, but she felt the care put into it. 

She retrieved the plain mules that were paired with the dress and bolted back down the hall to burst into Allison’s room.

Grace and Allison were at the vanity, the older woman’s hands fast at work expertly styling Allison’s curls. The pair looked at her through the mirror at first, but turned to take in Vanya’s appearance firsthand. 

“ _Vanya!_ ” Allison’s voice peaked in a giddy, melodious tone. She gestured at the dress. “That is so your style!”

“You look lovely, Vanya.” Grace added.

“Thanks.” Vanya felt her cheeks turn pink. “It’s all thanks to you, mom.”

“Yeah mom,” Allison said, turning back to the mirror to inspect her mother’s work. “You worked serious magic on your sewing machine.”

“Well, your father suggested the color scheme and gave me a little guidance,” Grace explained with a flourish of the comb. She returned to fixing Allison’s hair. “And after that, it really wasn’t too difficult.” 

Vanya nodded slowly. It made sense dad had his say in their ensembles. Part of the preparation for the evening included etiquette and polite conversation refresher lessons, and he’d stressed anything less than perfect behavior would not be tolerated. This seemed to apply to their appearances, too. A charitable benefit meant important people, which meant journalists, which meant possible off-the-cuff questions and photographs. Of course, no one would single her out, not when six super-powered teenagers were dressed to the nines and available. It made her dress all the more special.

She was far into her own thoughts when her mother gently called her name and patted the now vacant vanity seat.

“Your turn, Vanya.” 

Vanya blinked, only coming out of her well of thought to catch Allison slipping out the door, Luther’s name on her tongue. The door closed behind her and Grace beckoned again. She stood, suddenly feeling a little stiff, and transferred to the seat.

Her mother switched the comb for a brush and began to tend to her long brown hair. 

“Now, if I know you, and I like to think I know you pretty well,” Her mother said a with a smile, and a finger tapped the top of her head. “I bet you want to leave your hair as-is.” 

Vanya smiled shyly in the mirror and nodded. 

Her mother pouted playfully, but was quick to wink. “I understand. One day, I hope you let me braid it or style it in a bun.”

Vanya’s smile faltered a bit, her mind briefly flashing back to the last time she wore her hair up. She let a moment of silence pass before shifting her weight and turning back to her mother. The blonde retracted the brush, and peered down at her puzzlingly. 

“What is it?”

The girl frowned and searched her mother’s artificial eyes for a trace of her father. She hated that she couldn’t know if he heard every word. She reached up for her mother’s hand, which naturally accepted hers, and held it. She wondered if this was the right time. If Grace could even understand.

“Mom…Do you remember when I asked you, in December, about my training?” 

Grace continued to smile, pearly white teeth never disappearing for a second. “I’m afraid I don’t, sweetheart. What did you ask me?”

She swallowed and squeezed her hand. “I asked you if you knew what my training with dad involved.”

Somewhere within Grace, it seemed a distant mechanism processed Vanya’s question in real-time. Her facial features twitched, her perfect smile falling a fraction. But as soon as it left, her grin returned. “I’m afraid I don’t know, Vanya. Your father prefers to keep certain things secret.” She let go of Vanya’s hand to grip the hairbrush tightly. Its wooden handle creaked. 

Vanya stared. She opened her mouth to speak, but the door swung back open to reveal Allison and Luther.

“Luther says we’re supposed to go downstairs in twenty minutes!” Allison squealed, glowing from excitement.

Grace spun around on heel, cracked hairbrush in her hands behind her back. “Already? I better go and get changed, too.” She turned halfway, placed the brush back on the vanity, and hastily crossed the room to the door. She stopped to look back. “My girls, you two look so grown up. You too, Luther.” With that, she excused herself.

A halting silence passed between the three of them. Vanya felt the invitation silently rescind itself as Luther and Allison stared at her, and pointedly not at each other.

“Right. I’ll…Go put my shoes and stockings on in my room.” Vanya mumbled and stood. She followed the path of her mother, and plucked her shoes from the floor as she passed the pair. 

“Uh, Vanya?” Luther piped up, an uncharacteristically apprehensive look on his face. 

She paused with her fingertips curled around the doorframe. “Yes?”

“You look good in blue.” 

Vanya gave him a small smile, but said nothing. She closed the door behind her, which cut off a giggle from Allison, and returned to her room. Worry stewed in her mind. It impolitely unseated the eagerness and excitement she’d felt briefly only minutes ago. 

She tugged on her pair of stockings and slid on her flat shoes. To some degree, Grace was aware of the nature of her past training sessions. There was no other explanation for her reaction. Her father told her himself. _Even if she knew, she would not tell you._ An uneasy breath left her as she examined herself in the mirror again. _She follows my every order. Something you would be smart to emulate._ A familiar doubt swept over her again, the same doubt she felt the morning after he left her body battered and bruised. After he demanded she tell him she was his possession. Perhaps she still was, even though he claimed their attachment would be severed upon her departure. 

A knock at her door plucked her once again out of her thoughts. Had it been twenty minutes already? A glance at her clock confirmed it, and she quickly smoothed her hair and dress. She answered the door to see Luther begin to line everyone up in order. Five and Ben were right outside her door, both of whom seemed surprised by her appearance. She gave them the same unsure smile she’d given Luther. Once satisfied, Number One began the march forward. Vanya followed a few feet behind.

The dim light of their hallway gradually melted into the warmly lit landing of the grand staircase. Vanya hid herself behind a wooden column and watched her siblings left her behind. The sound of a crowd below became a sea of murmurs, until the sharp voice of their father rose above. 

“Ladies and gentleman, esteemed guests of the Lagarde Society, I present to you, the Umbrella Academy.” 

The six of them looked every bit the part of dutiful and capable heroes. They’d spent hours practicing this very descent. Eyes forward, shoulders back yet relaxed, and most importantly, smiling. Even Klaus and Diego behaved. This benefit was to distract from their destructive tendencies. To lay on the charm. Vanya thought it successful, as the crowd whispered to one another. 

A few minutes passed and her father provided further remarks. He thanked the guests for their generosity, reminded them of the silent auction, and encouraged them to approach members of the Academy with their questions. 

Vanya knew he drilled all the right answers into them.

Once her siblings were successfully absorbed into the throngs of socialites, she knew it was her turn to make her non-entrance. She headed for the service staircase, the one that would put her into Grace’s quarters and feed her into the foyer unnoticed. Her father hadn’t left instructions for her to take the route, but it wasn’t the first time she used them to avoid attention. The extra steps allowed her to further collect herself in peace. 

She paused in front of the door to the entrance hall and took a deep breath. She had one mission for herself - to avoid her father. She mustered her strength and pushed the paneled door open.

To her relief, only a small cluster of guests stood immediately outside the door, and they were too engrossed in conversation about the mansion’s ornate woodwork to notice. She closed the door silently behind herself and scanned her immediate surroundings. She could hear Klaus already, voice pitchy and in the beginnings of a story, but couldn’t see him. His voice meant there was a good chance Ben was nearby, but while she wanted to desperately to find some kind of social island, she knew he too, would be preoccupied playing reluctant ambassador. 

She navigated through the groups of richly-dressed adults towards the sitting room. Grace was her next hope, despite her realization of her mother’s knowledge. It was better to hitch herself to something familiar, then let herself be caught alone. She was barely through the curved entryway when a familiar voice called her name, the accent curling around the syllables of her name like a hug. Vanya turned.

Anne stood in front of one of the towering built-in bookshelves, clothed in a rich violet ensemble. She gestured with a hand that cradled a flute of champagne. “Vanya, darling,” She repeated. “Come here, girl.” 

Vanya did not hesitate. She went to the unexpected friendly face, and only slowed when she realized Anne was flanked by two other women. 

“Rose, Marguerite, this is Reginald’s daughter, Vanya. The one I told you about.” Anne sipped her champagne and winked at Vanya over the glass.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Vanya bowed her head. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” 

This elicited a giggle from the woman named Marguerite. 

Anne smiled slyly at Vanya and gestured with her glass around the sitting room. “Ah, yes. I suppose you wouldn’t know.”

Her head tilted. “Wouldn’t know what?”

“I am the founder of the Lagarde Society. This _soirée_ is, ah, to benefit my charity.” 

Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh, no, I…I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Anne nodded. “No need to apologize. I did not expect Reginald to tell you. That man likes to keep things to himself.”

 _As I am continually reminded._ Vanya thought. Her hands reflexively reached to comb through her hair and she looked down at her shoes. “I am often the last to know.”

Anne looked at her curiously for a beat, then excused her companions. “Girls, I will find you later.” The two women seemed slightly taken aback at her direction, but left Anne and Vanya without a word. 

“Vanya, I respect your loyalty and sense of duty, and I think you a clever girl.” Anne said, her tone changed from its former lilting tenor to a shade more commanding. “So. I shall be frank. Are you treated well in this house?”

Her eyes snapped back up from their place on the floor to Anne’s face. The old woman’s face was drawn into a serious expression. “Yes.” She said after a second of hesitation. “Yes, I am.” She repeated. A hundred cries rose up within her at once, desperate to tell this woman she barely knew everything. But seven words, words that were supposed to mean nothing to her now, killed each confession.

_You will mention this to no one._

Vanya opened her mouth, noted how Anne’s eyes narrowed in anticipation, and closed it again to briefly think. She shook her head. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but I’m fine. He is hard on me, but it is nothing I am not used to, and it is nothing worse than what my siblings endure.” She stared at the woman and kept still beneath her eye. _When did I become such a liar?_

A mixture of concern and disappointment welled up in Anne’s eyes. She frowned. “But you have stopped accompanying Reginald, no? Why is that? He refused to explain when I asked.” She swirled her champagne flute. “I cannot help but wonder if he is singling you out.” She sipped and seemed to consider her next thought carefully before speaking again. “Poor creature,” Anne said at last, a peculiar sadness laced into her words. “You already have it hard enough. How could he look at you and think to make it worse?”

Vanya knew Anne meant well. Most people _meant _well when they spoke to her. Allison, Grace, Pogo, Ben, and even Five, on his nicer days. But it always boiled down to the same thing - pity, and pity was a backhanded thing. She took a small step backward from Anne and bowed her head again.__

__“Anne, it was nice to see you again. I hope this, um, party, raises a lot of money…” She glanced around and tried to spot the glint of a monocle. “I’m afraid I must go.”_ _

__“Vanya, I didn’t mean to upset you-“ Anne started. She reached a frail hand out._ _

__“Have a nice night.” Vanya interrupted and hurriedly squeezed through another group to make her way to the other end of the room. Nausea bloomed in her stomach. She had come closer than ever to spilling her secrets and it frightened her that she couldn’t decide if she wanted to scream it at the top of her lungs or bury it for good._ _

__She caught the corner of the far sofa beside the fireplace and a hand hooked itself into the crook of her elbow. It drew her backwards a step, but she turned and tore herself free. Beside her, John rose from his seat on the couch with an apology._ _

__“Sorry to frighten you, Miss Hargreeves,” he said as he rocked onto his feet._ _

__He towered over her. She hadn’t realized how much taller he was, having spent most of the meetings seated. She looked up at him. “You’re here too.”_ _

__He quirked a brow. “Ah…yes? Most of the group is, save for Markus, the old stick in the mud.” John said with a quiet laugh. He looked back across the room towards where Vanya had come from, then back down at her. “I’m sorry that I grabbed you. You didn’t see me wave and you seemed, well, upset about something.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and stepped to block the path she’d taken._ _

__The nausea in Vanya’s stomach did not fade with John’s apparent concern, but his smile had an effect on her. She turned to face him completely and pushed hair back from her face. “It’s okay, I was just surprised.”_ _

__“As am I. I thought you would be in a jumper or something.” He gestured at her with a nod, his smile blooming to a full-blown grin. “I didn’t think Reggie allowed you all to have personalities.”_ _

__Vanya let out a dry laugh and glanced down at the dark blue shift dress. “Oh. This thing. Turns out he picked out the colors.”_ _

__John’s smile shrunk, but he nodded again. “Of course he did.” He cleared his throat after a second. “So why the rush?”_ _

__She shook her head. “Just trying to avoid certain people.”_ _

__“Well, I was thinking of going and getting some air in the courtyard…” John said, eyes flitting towards the entrance hall. “Care to join me?”_ _

__Vanya studied the man. Her father’s warnings echoed in the back of her mind. John acted a bit odd, but she couldn’t be sure if it was abnormal. Her experience with speaking to men was limited to her household and the handful of meetings she attended in the past year. Dad called John an ‘imprudent cad’, but he hadn’t acted untoward. Even if his ‘tastes’ were poor as her father explained, he’d only ever been nice to her. He talked to her, never condescended, and listened when she spoke._ _

__“Okay, but only for a few minutes.”_ _

__The pair made their way through the crowd without much trouble. Every so often John waved or smiled at another guest, but he never slowed. As they crossed the entrance hall, Vanya only saw one of her siblings - Five. He was leaned up against the wall, his face a classic mixture of boredom and annoyance. He was mid-conversation when they locked eyes briefly, before he glanced at her companion. She turned away hastily and stepped up so that she was next to John as they neared the doors to the courtyard. The last thing she needed was one of her siblings butting in._ _

__The courtyard was, to Vanya’s surprise, not completely empty. A few couples were clustered near the doors, mostly smokers that didn’t seem to mind them. The yard was partially lit from the fogged windows. Vanya shivered and she could faintly see her own breath. The dress was ill-suited for the evening air. April was halfway over and winter stubbornly held on. She followed the man along the wall._ _

__John broke the silence. “You know, I have only been a guest here a handful of times. Mostly when I was like you, tagging along with my father to shindigs like this. It always struck me how grand and beautiful of a house it is.” He looked around the yard wistfully as they walked. “But now, all I can think of how it feels too big.”_ _

__Vanya hugged her arms for warmth. “It feels too small, most of the time.”_ _

__“Why’s that?”_ _

__“Too many people.” Vanya said plainly. “Not enough privacy.” Not enough hiding places._ _

__“Have you ever thought about leaving?” He asked softly as they came to a corner of the yard. He stopped._ _

__She looked up at him, a bit incredulous. “No. Where would I even go?” She kicked at the ground, and stepped around him. “And it’s not like my dad would let me, or any of us, go that easily.”_ _

__John’s head tilted. “Forgive me, but I can’t help but wonder if he _would_ let _you_ go.”_ _

__The uneasiness in her stomach lurched and her breath caught in her throat. She tried to divine meaning from his contemplative expression._ _

__“Do not misunderstand me, Miss Hargreeves. What I mean to say is that I think Reginald is, for lack of a better term, narrow-minded.” He nodded at his own words. “All he understands and values is the relationship between obedience and power. If someone does not fall into line quickly enough for his liking, or cannot provide him with a kind of leverage, he inevitably dismisses them.”_ _

__Vanya sunk into the cold brick wall behind her, dead twists of ivy tickling her shoulders. She looked through John and picked apart his words._ _

__He continued. “I’ve seen him do it before, with past members of our little group. Cuts them loose if they don’t give him what he demands, it’s quite heartless, really.”_ _

__An unexpected but warm tear ran down her cheek. Her eyes refocused and she raised a hand to her cheek to wipe it away. He was right. Her father openly disliked a number of things, and chief among them was uselessness. The old worry returned. She’d thrown away the one thing that made her useful to him. Perhaps him casting her out _was_ inescapable. _ _

__“Oh, Miss Hargreeves. You’re crying.” John’s voice dropped to a whisper. He reached out to cover her hand with his own._ _

__She flinched and stiffened under the weight of his hand on her face. Her brown eyes rolled upward to meet his face and more tears welled up. “I should get back to the party.”_ _

__His smile reappeared. It looked friendly and inviting, but evoked a familiar sinister feeling._ _

__John ignored her and instead moved his hand to pass over a length of her hair. “What if you ran away? Find a friend to stay with as you figure out your next steps?”_ _

__Vanya stared at him in disbelief. It was awful, how much he sounded like her dad. He similarly let her fill in the blanks between his words._ _

__“You’re almost sixteen, right? My family has connections to some of the best schools, we could-“_ _

__“What are you talking about?” She blurted out._ _

__His grin was wolfish, all teeth and unmistakably tinged by hunger. “Don’t you understand?” He continued to stroke her hair. He cast a glance over his shoulder then leaned in to whisper. “I figured it out weeks ago. What really goes on in this mansion. The way he treats you…must be terrible. Painful, even.”_ _

__Before, with Anne, she felt torn between confession and concealment. Now, her thoughts crystalized. Her secret was ruinous. A poison that would leech into every facet of her young life if it were to get out._ _

___You will mention this to no one._ _ _

__More tears rolled down her face._ _

__“Your reaction tells me I’m right.”_ _

__Vanya shook her head in denial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She felt the pad of a thumb swipe over her cheek to clear away teardrops._ _

__“I think you do.” He pulled his face back a few inches. “I can help you get away from here. I can be that friend to you.”_ _

__“No thank you.” Vanya lurched out from under his hand and ducked under his arm. She forced herself forward across the cement walkway, but he was close behind. She pulled forward when his fingers grabbed for her arm again. They pressed harder this time, enough to extract a quiet yelp from her, and to draw the eyes of strangers. She turned back to face her father’s associate and found him scrambling to disguise the anger so plainly written across his features._ _

__He whispered again, apparently uneasy with so many eyes on them. “You are being childish, Miss Hargreeves. I am merely trying to help you.”_ _

__“I don’t want _your_ help.” She said sharply, surprised by her own temper. “I’ll get out.” She added. “I’ll do it on my own, like I do everything else.”_ _

__“Is there a problem here?”_ _

__Vanya’s head turned on a swivel. She hadn’t heard Five’s jump. She shot one last glare back at the older man, annoyed that her father was right, again, and yanked her arm free. She headed for the doors. “No. I was just leaving.”_ _

__“Dad’s looking for you,” Five said as she pushed past. “Who’s this creep?”_ _

__Vanya didn’t answer. She wiped at her eyes and pulled the doors to the mansion back open. She hurried towards the service staircase. Her head pounded. Strain and worry threatened to overwhelm her. Too many people for one evening. Too much pity, too much cruelty._ _

__As she neared the door, both Grace and her father appeared to materialize out of nowhere. Her father regarded her with a grim expression and she came to a stuttering halt. Beside him, Grace cradled the violin case and looked at her expectantly._ _

__Her father greeted her curtly. “Number Seven. Care to entertain our guests?”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I had a hell of a week. I must've started/deleted/started/deleted this chapter a half dozen times before I liked it. I originally finished with ~7k words. After edits and moving some content to the next chapter, this chapter is still quite hefty.
> 
> I'm not sure of what else to say this time, only that I hope people have enjoyed my slow, mad descent into hell.


	11. Concern

All words and breath left her at the sight of her mother and father. They were surely coconspirators in their prevention of her escape from the benefit, the way they stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder.

She looked to her mother first. The blonde’s eyes were glassed over in a fog, the fog that appeared on the rare occasions she required on-the-spot maintenance. The occasions wherein her father grumbled and fussed over one of the panels hidden beneath Grace’s skin, angry that a malfunction interrupted a meal or a meeting. Vanya stared into the two lifeless orbs and knew she wouldn’t find help there. Her mother stood mere feet away, but was not present.

Her father was, of course, no lifeline either. The furthest thing from it. She failed her mission of staying away from him for the evening, all thanks to the lunatic in the courtyard. He glared down at her through a ring of gold and glass, his mouth edged in a sneer.

_”Care to entertain our guests?”_

His ‘request’ was a demand wrapped up in his best attempt at a civil tone. His guests milled about behind her as he waited for a response. When it failed to arrive speedily, he repeated himself.

“Perhaps Bach?” 

He wasn’t an idiot. She knew the dark eyes that stared down at her worked to pick apart every minute detail she was too exhausted to hide. He knew what distress and fear looked like as he was a master of conjuring both, but he was not going to assist her unless explicitly asked. Not unless she begged. She took a step toward him. A single brow twitched in response, but he said nothing.

She broke. “Dad…” Vanya reached forward and grabbed him by the sleeve. The flint-colored material scratched at her fingertips and a polished cufflink dug into her thumbnail. She gazed up at him and felt her lip quiver. She’d hoped to tell him just with her eyes, but his apathetic expression was already giving way to contempt. She would lose his attention if she did not get _something_ out. “Dad,” She said again, and swallowed. “John. Mr. Stevens. H-He _knows_. And he asked me to…to leave. With him.”

Vanya felt the muscles of his arm flex through his suit and watched him repress what was surely shock. His left cheek caved for a moment as if he’d bit it and his eyes flashed. It was only seconds, but it felt like hours before he relaxed his arm. He cleared his throat and laid his free hand over hers. He removed her hand from his wrist and held it, and a large thumb drew circles on its back. He glanced behind her, a perfunctory smile on his lips, before he leaned down to whisper.

“I see. Then he shall be dealt with, posthaste. _Where? _”__

__Vanya wetted her lips. Her throat and mouth were still so dry, and his gestures did not put her at ease. It was genius, really, to look the part of a concerned father. She lowered her voice and kept her eyes glued to his. “Courtyard. Five might have seen something-“_ _

__“ _Seen something_? What were you—ah, never mind. It seems I cannot go a day without cleaning up a mess.” _ _

__His hand slipped from hers and he broke from her orbit in a sidestep to address Grace. “Take Number Seven to her room. She feels ill.”_ _

__“Yes sir.” Grace answered immediately, her melodic voice replaced by monotone._ _

__Vanya and her father exchanged a final look. She knew that this was just another bargain. There would be a price._ _

__He tore his eyes from her after a moment and set off across the entrance hall. The clacking of his cane on the marble announced him as he went and the sea of people parted around him. The guests that had waited for Vanya to play violin forgot their disappointment quickly, and returned to their champagne and gossip. A gloved hand slipped over her shoulder and she flinched, only to relax when her mother’s voice beckoned her to the door._ _

__She went quietly through the passage and looked back as the door swung shut. A pang of humiliation shot through her chest. She’d insisted to John that she would escape this place, that she’d do it alone. But if she could not handle the world out there, if she continued to run at the first sign of conflict, she would never make it._ _

__They were halfway up the stairs when Vanya stopped her mother. She squeezed her arm and searched her face a final time. Grace’s purely Stepford smile stretched on and on. Vanya reached for her violin case and cradled it to her chest. Her mother’s arms retracted mechanically._ _

__“Mom, I can take myself to my room. Why don’t you go enjoy the party? Or go to your room?”_ _

__Grace blinked. “Alright, sweetheart. Goodnight.”_ _

__Vanya, unnerved, simply nodded and continued up the service staircase to the next floor. She hugged the wall and avoided peeking down to the next floor. She’d lasted all of an hour, a _generous_ estimate, before she’d gone and ruined it for herself. Her father warned her and she made the mistake of thinking she could handle it. _Ineffectual dullard.__ _

__Inside her bedroom, she set the violin case down and kicked off her mules. She grimaced upon catching her reflection in the mirror. The dress was a waste. All the hard work her mother put into it, all the kind things Allison said… They didn’t mean a thing. She thought she was grown up in the simple shift, but there she was, hiding in her room._ _

__She collapsed onto her bed. The muscles around her eye sockets ached from crying and her throat still stubbornly burned. She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling. She replayed the encounter over in her mind._ _

___“Have you ever thought about leaving?”_ _ _

__Stupid question. Of course she did. Frequently. The idea was often the only thing that helped her sleep at night, the thing that helped her through her encounters with her father. And Vanya knew for a fact her siblings fantasized about life after the mansion. She also knew her siblings regularly snuck out one of their windows to get Griddy’s or contraband from a corner store, but they never dared to _stay_ out. Every one of them, even the mouthy Five and hotheaded Diego, crawled back. Yet even in her own fantasies, her departure was always of her own free will, when she was older and more prepared, like a sad and deranged kind of graduation. _ _

__Vanya turned on to her side to face the window. She looked out to the night sky and let out an audible whimper. _Inevitable._ That was the word John used. It was _inevitable_ that she would be discarded by her father. She’d made sure of her uselessness the night she ripped away from him and crossed the line out of his room. Her bold denial of his claim over her severed the binds that kept her tethered to him, or at least, all of them save for a thread. _ _

__She held her hand in front of her face and gazed at her palm. She thought of the scratchy material of his suit and the flash of his eyes when she told him about John. For a moment, he had that strange, bestial look in his eye again. Clearly, he still felt some sort of responsibility for her, to immediately set off like he had. She shuddered and pulled her hand back. He would be back to collect whatever price he deemed suitable, agreement or no agreement._ _

__A sob she didn’t realize she’d held back broke from her chest. It sputtered into a cry and her mind overloaded with a hundred awful thoughts. She pressed her hand to her tired and weeping eyes and bawled. Her knees tucked themselves to her chest and the dress crumpled under them. Her body ached with each wail. She was _fucked_ , as her brothers would probably put it. Fucked if she left, and fucked, literally and figuratively, if she stayed. And the rest of them…Her chest tightened at the thought of Ben, Allison and Five. Klaus and Luther. Even Diego. _ _

___“Without you, I’m not sure how I would react.”_ _ _

__With another sob, an all-too familiar agonizing sense of guilt crashed over her. Perhaps this was her true purpose. Not what her father said, but what he didn’t say. She was a shield for the rest of them. An offering._ _

__— —_ _

__A flock of unimportant nobodies streamed past him just as he approached the doors to the courtyard. His gaze fixed itself to the small porthole windows embedded in the wooden doors, and narrowed when the distracted and bedraggled face of the younger Stevens appeared. One of the doors swung open and his associate’s face blanched._ _

__“Reggie!” He started. “There you are. I was just about to come find you, I’m afraid I have to leave.”_ _

__“I think not.”_ _

__Reginald slid his foot forward and caught the door. He thrusted his cane forward. He caught the younger man in the chest with the ferrule with just enough force to push him back into the courtyard. He followed close behind and tucked his other hand into the pocket of his trousers. In his periphery, he saw Five step out of the shadows. His son stood a few feet off from the door and his pose mirrored his own - fists stuffed into the pockets of his culottes with his knees slightly bent. Always at the ready for a fight. The boy glared at Stevens with a foreboding scowl, but his eyes flickered to the cane, then traveled along it to him. He awaited orders._ _

__“Number Five, do not allow any of our guests to interrupt us.”_ _

__The boy nodded, though a twinge of disappointment passed over his features. He blinked out of the yard._ _

__The older Hargreeves heard Five reappear beyond the door and he lowered his cane from the petrified man before him. He rested both of his hands atop the handle and leveled his gaze. The younger man worked to compose himself. He looked every part of a child caught with a hand in the proverbial cookie jar, but had the gall to act as if nothing was amiss._ _

__John’s hands popped up, palms out, in a gesture to appear harmless. “Reginald, come now. What’s this about?”_ _

__Reginald lifted his head a degree and put John beneath his scope. “I think you know.”_ _

__The man’s false look of surprise gave way to an impish smile and his hands lowered to his sides. “Is this about Vanya?” He nodded after a moment, and his smile stretched to a toothy grin. He rocked forward on his heels and gesticulated. “We had a misunderstanding, yes, about her future schooling. But I assure you, Reggie, it was nothing nefarious.” He shrugged. “Van is emotional.”_ _

__His eyes narrowed at the overly familiar nickname. That infernal, possessive creature within him scratched at the walls of his chest and obliged him to rip off one of Stevens’ arms. The degenerate had nerve to address Seven intimately. And yet, his associate, however obnoxious, possessed a valuable piece of information. One that could not leave the grounds. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “I shall not argue with you on that front; Number Seven is a delicate girl-“_ _

__“Something you’re _intimately_ aware of, yes?” Stevens quipped._ _

__Reginald allowed a smile to tug at the edge of his mouth. For a moment, he simply observed the other’s body language. He noted the spasms in his associate’s thigh and knee, as well as the rigidity in his lower eyelids. The cretin clearly fancied himself a kind of adversary on equal footing, while Reginald considered him an inconvenient target. He tucked his hand into a pocket and idly tapped at the cement with his cane. “Let me make myself plain. Whatever it is that you think you have uncovered, whatever ridiculous rumor you have brewed… I urge you to consider the assets I have at my disposal to make life _very_ uncomfortable for you.”_ _

__“Oh, Reg.” Stevens scoffed and started to round him, though he maintained a wide berth. “You think you are so much better than everyone else.” He exclaimed and his hand gestured vaguely towards the fogged windows of the sitting room. “Just because you bought a few freakish kids off of some desperate nobodies.” Silhouettes of guests milled about behind the glass, unaware of the pair outside._ _

__“You certainly think you’re better than me, but there’s the catch, old man.” He stopped a few feet behind Reginald. “We’re the same. Both monsters in our own right, of course. Although,” Stevens sucked a dramatic sigh over his teeth. “I think, when it came down to it, Van might think me a more _palatable_ monster. Younger, closer to a big brother than a father.”_ _

__He’d lectured the children a hundred times on the importance of not losing one’s temper. Loss of one’s temper typically meant playing directly into an opponent’s hands. One could not allow themselves to be emotionally compromised in a combat situation. Emotions polluted clear and focused minds. Yet when one’s opponent was both an untrained idiot as well as a flight hazard, allowances could be made._ _

__Which was why Reginald found himself over a semi-unconscious Stevens, foot of his cane in a vice grip in his dominant hand, one swing away from cracking the skull of his associate a _second_ time. His eyes widened a fraction, not quite surprised at his reaction, but how he didn’t register his own movement at all. Reginald straightened up. The man groaned beneath him, still alive, but not in the best of shape. Right. Just another mess._ _

__He sighed and summoned his lookout. “Number Five.”_ _

__The boy appeared seconds later and came to a halting stop, just short of the prone man. He looked twice between them. “Do I even wanna know?”_ _

__Reginald inspected the blunt handle of his cane and dabbed at the few droplets of blood with his handkerchief. He ignored his son’s question. “Close off the corridor and then fetch Number Three. Be discreet. Then return immediately to your post outside the door.”_ _

__Five lingered only for a moment, long enough to get another look at Stevens, before blinking away._ _

__Reginald stared at the doors and counted. Meanwhile, mind ran on two tracks: one for his first plan, and another for a back-up plan. When he heard his son’s acerbic tone bark at a few guests beyond the doors again, he allowed himself to breathe. Shortly thereafter, Number Three edged past her brother and through the doors, shivering all the way in her gown._ _

__She spoke, a mixture of annoyance and curiosity written in her voice. “Dad? What do you—oh _shit_.” She exclaimed quietly at the sight of the man on the ground. She hugged her arms and gawked at him._ _

__“Language.” he chided. He hooked his cane into the crook of his arm and bent down to roughly grab John. He hoisted the man up into a sitting position and briefly examined his eyes. He’d hit his head, that much was clear, but he was conscious and breathing. He snapped his fingers infant of the man’s glassed eyes until they regained some focus. “John? Can you hear me?”_ _

__The man seemed to realize all at once what had transpired and whose fist held him by the collar. “Y-You hit me!” He screeched and tried to scramble upwards, but the older Hargreeves held him firmly in place. “You are finished, you sick fuck! I am going to tell everyone what you do-“_ _

__Having heard enough, Reginald yanked the man by the back of his shirt and grabbed at the length of his tie before garroting him into silence. He looked to Number Three, who in turn, stared in horror. He spoke as coolly as he could manage with the man thrashing weakly in his hold._ _

__“Number Three. We are in need of a rumor.”_ _

__— 2:41 AM —_ _

__Reginald stared at the thin wood door in front of him. It was worn, pocked with small holes and gashes, leftovers from training circuits, he supposed. He didn’t like to linger in this part of the house. It felt like it sent the wrong message to the children, that he was interested in their personal space outside of monitoring their sleep. The children were tools, he reminded himself, the last bastion against the end of the world. All save for one - the girl beyond the door._ _

__The gears of his mind did not let him rest or relax after Stevens was taken care of, and instead forced him to work overtime at the benefit. He had to explain his absence to Anne, resume the part of charismatic host, and entertain a swarm of self-important nobodies for several more brutal hours. All the while, he had scolded himself silently for allowing John to get so far in his line of inquest, and for allowing his temper to slip from its reins. The last time he allowed his emotion to dictate his actions, he had sealed Seven in a custom-made chamber, then had her rumored into a false normalcy. Fear and anger were the same side of a coin, both equally ruinous emotions._ _

__He wasn’t sure what brought him to her door after he dismissed Pogo and Grace for the night. It was not fear or anger, but a possessive brand of concern._ _

___“I wouldn’t leave. I wouldn’t.”_ _ _

__Reginald glanced down at his sleeve where Number Seven grabbed his arm, and pictured the wild and desperate look in her eye. The look had set loose a bolt of anger, straight through his chest, and left him with little choice in dealing with Stevens. The girl inspired quite the fury._ _

__He entered her room silently. The window provided enough light to illuminate her sleeping form. She was curled in a ball on her side, her pale face angled towards the night sky. His eyes raked over her frame and the dress he’d so hoped to admire further earlier in the evening. A streak of jealousy tore through him at the thought of the younger man monopolizing her time. He edged towards her and held his breath as he examined her more closely. She was smaller and more fragile than the rest of them, but harbored a power a hundred times more dangerous. He’d kill for her again._ _

__He fished a scrap of paper from his suit jacket and laid it in front of her face on the bed. He gave her sleeping body a final look, then withdrew back into the empty hallways. It would be dawn in a handful of hours and he needed rest._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, here's another one for you. It's somewhat shorter than the previous chapters, but I'm saving some stuff up. Anyway, I bring you a little piece of action and more angst.
> 
> A few songs I listened to while working on this chapter:  
> \- White Wedding, Billy Idol  
> \- Slide, The Dresden Dolls  
> \- A Better Son/Daughter, Rilo Kiley  
> \- Blue Monday, New Order  
> \- Reading in Bed, Emily Haines & The Soft Skeleton  
> \- Blind, Hercules & Love Affair  
> \- When I Was Older, Billie Eilish  
> \- Body, Julia Jacklin  
> \- Enjoy the Silence, Depeche Mode  
> \- Asleep, The Smiths  
> \- Werewolf, CocoRosie  
> \- Television Snow, Johnny Jewel, Symmetry  
> \- Little Dark Age, MGMT


	12. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dark eyes bore into her, but his face remained otherwise expressionless. “As for you, Number Seven, you disappointed several guests due to your refusal to perform. Were I a weaker man, I would consider myself humiliated, but are we to be surprised by your miserable and substandard behavior? I think not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual content and brief mentions of character deaths ahead. Mind the tags.

_’My study, after lunch.’_

Vanya stared at the scrap of paper in her fist and re-read it for the hundredth time as if the words were going to rearrange themselves. She found the note the moment she opened her eyes and the discovery shattered the illusion that her room was any sort of sacred space. She hung up the dress, showered, and changed into her uniform. She combed her hair, counted the number of pulls of the teeth, and tried to detach herself from her grim reality. 

Her eyes and chest still hurt. A hoarseness took up residence in her throat. Fear clutched fiercely at her heart and held on, she couldn’t shake it no matter how much she willed it away. Whatever awaited her in his study, it was going to be bad. There was some relief knowing it the rendezvous was scheduled for the middle of the day, but not much. His office was his territory.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She crumpled the piece of paper and stuffed it into her blazer before she spoke. “Who is it?”

“Five.” 

Her chest tightened. She knew her most analytical and inquisitive brother would have questions after he’d found her last night. 

“Come in.”

He teleported just inside the door and pocketed his hands. His eyes fixed themselves upon her, a glimmer of wariness within them. He didn’t waste a moment. “So, are you going to tell me what the hell happened last night?”

She pulled her legs up over the edge of the bed and crossed them to buy a second, but she latched on to the first lie that took shape in her mind. “It was just an argument. That man is one of dad’s associates. I’ve met him before and we had a little debate.” 

One of his thick eyebrows lifted. “Really. What about? He seemed _pret-ty_ upset.” He leaned back on the corner of the door frame. 

Five’s unyielding gaze could pin a particle of dust to the wall. His eyes were much like their dad’s - expressive when he wanted them to be, and flat when he needed them to be. It couldn’t be clearer that this was an interrogation. Maybe months ago, when she was a different person, he’d be able to extract a confession more easily. But she had practice keeping what felt like the world’s worst secret. 

“Yep. He told me he felt bad for me.” Vanya shrugged and pulled at the hem of her skirt before hanging her legs over the bed’s edge again. “And that I should leave.” The best lies were always laced with truth.

He seemed to grasp onto the second piece of information. His wide mouth curved into a frown and he stood up straight. “Leave? As in, walk out the door and just…go? With him?”

Vanya nodded and smiled weakly. “Yeah. Did I mention he was a creep?”

His eyes broke from hers and instead traced something on the floor. “You know, now it makes sense that dad bashed his head in.” He scoffed and withdrew a hand from his pockets to run it through his hair. “Allison said dad told her that…”

Her eyes widened and she dropped them to her lap immediately, glad that he was distracted. “I…didn’t know dad did that. Was the man alright?” Her mind conjured an image of John dead on the pavement, half of his skull caved in. She looked up, confusion writ over her features. “Wait. What does Allison have to do with anything?”

“Last I saw, the guy was up and walking. And as for Allison,” Five moved to her chair and turned it to face her. He sat, their knees some inches apart. “Well, dad made me go get her after he hit the guy. You know what he made her do.”

Vanya’s focused slipped and Five’s face blurred. What had she done? Gone and made a scene, a mess, that required not only her father, but two of her siblings to clean up. Their secrecy would need to be bought or assured by their father, and even then, Allison was never going to keep something like last night from Luther. And Luther would _never_ let her forget a time where she messed up. She quietly spiraled until Five tapped her knee with two thin fingers.

“Still with us?” He said, mouth cracking open for a careful smile.

“Sorry,” she apologized and fumbled for an explanation. “I’m just embarrassed. I feel stupid that I let him corner me.” 

Her brother shook his head. “Look, if Allison hadn’t rumored the guy, dad would’ve probably made me kill him. Or he would do it himself.” Five shrugged and leaned back on the chair, arms folded over his chest. “Dad’s a sadistic prick, but I doubt that he would let some pervert kidnap you.”

She willed herself to remain completely still and forced her eyes to remain locked onto his face. _Yeah. Dad’s a saint._ She thought bitterly. She couldn’t let her guard down for a moment, not when Five was so close to the truth. “Yeah. I guess so.” Vanya pushed herself to smile. She leaned on his fraternal instinct. “You would’ve… killed him though? For me?”

The move was the right one, as her question triggered an even bigger grin to cut across Five’s jawline. “You’re my sister, Vanya. I wouldn’t think twice about it.”

She let out a little hollow laugh, then glanced at the clock. “Thanks. Should we go down to breakfast?” 

He reached out and tapped her knee again, then stood. “Let’s go together.” He held out a hand.

Vanya took it and allowed him to help her up from her bed. She moved past him to slip on her shoes.

“And Vanya?” 

She turned her head, poised to ease a foot into a leather loafer.

Five reached past her and turned the doorknob, “I don’t want to tell you what to do, but I think you should talk to Allison. Before breakfast.” He pulled the door open and ducked into the hall.

Vanya kicked her foot toes first on the ground to shove her shoe on. She followed him and pulled the door closed. She watched her brother go towards Diego’s room, though he was still partly turned towards her. He wanted to know her next move. She sighed and looked down the hall at the cracked door of Allison’s room. “I know.” 

Her feet felt heavy in the short trudge to her sister’s room. Lying to Five was one thing, lying to Allison was another. She was a master of the art, it came to her as easy as breathing, and she was even better at catching others in a lie. Vanya frantically rehearsed her side of the story, and reminded herself of the basics. _I just have to base it on the truth, like with Five._ She knocked at the door softly and waited.

Vanya heard the squeak of mattress springs and two feet hit the floor. She listened intently as the footsteps came closer and stepped back as the door opened another inch to reveal a sliver of Allison’s face. Her sister pursed her lips at the sight of her, but the door opened wider.

“Vanya.”

“Allison...Can I come in?”

The other girl sighed, but motioned and returned to the edge of her bed in view of the door. Vanya followed and shut the door, and took one last discreet breath before facing her sister. Allison was already dressed, not a hair out of place, but looked like she hadn’t slept well at all. Her shoulders were slumped slightly and her eyes were heavily lidded, as if she struggled to keep them open. Vanya knew she couldn’t take up too much time, and needed to balance her sister’s mood and what little time they had until breakfast. 

“Five told me dad dragged you into my mess last night, so I wanted to apologize and tell you what happened.” Vanya paused briefly to wait if her sister had something to say, but when the girl simply looked at her in mild annoyance, she began again. “The man dad made you rumor last night is one of his associates. We have met several times before, when I would go with dad into the city. Last night, he invited me to talk outside. I thought it was a harmless chat, but he acted…odd. He said some hurtful things about dad,” A detail that prompted an incredulous snort from her sister. “And the rest of the family, so I got upset. He became angry too, and it was just an ugly mess.” She took a breath and hoped her sparsely detailed story was enough for her sister. “I’m sorry you were brought into it. Had I known you would be, I wouldn’t have told dad.”

Allison stared, seemingly content to leave Vanya hanging in the awkward silence that followed her hurried monologue. She leaned back on her bed with a hand planted on either side of her and continued to stare. Vanya knew she was sizing her up before granting a response. When she broke the silence, it was with a click of her tongue. “I can tell you’re leaving a _lot_ out, but I don’t blame you. Dad told me his ‘associate’ or whatever was a pervert. If I had it my way, I would have made him forget his entire life story, but dad only asked me to make him forget his evening.” 

Inwardly, a dose relief injected itself into her worried conscience. _So he’s definitely alive. I’ll take that._ Vanya was perturbed by her father’s violent response to John’s revelation, but she hadn’t necessarily meant for him to wipe John off of the face of the earth. Turning back the clock on the man’s memory was a fair punishment, she supposed, though it meant he still knew her secret. Another detail to pass to her father. Her focus snapped back to her sister, who eyed her with an odd expression. Apparently, she’d been in her own head for too long again. 

Vanya scrambled to explain. “Sorry, I went to my room early so this is the first time I’m hearing everything from you and Five.” 

Allison sighed again and pushed herself up to stand. “We figured dad sent you to your room last night when we couldn’t find you. You didn’t miss much though. Honestly, the whole thing was so boring. I mean, it was nice to talk to people… Okay, I actually really enjoyed it. But in the end, it was just us talking to rich people. I was up the _whole night_ until dad kicked everyone out, and-”

Vanya let another wave of relief pass over her as Allison deftly transferred the conversation to herself and the benefit. Last night was merely a blip in the sibling’s already incredibly strange and fucked up lives, and it certainly was not the worst thing her siblings had to do under the order of their father. Wiping the mind of a creep was small game. Her siblings fought and killed criminals and terrorists on a regular basis.

The girls exited Allison’s room together and started down the hall towards the stairs. Vanya was more than happy to let Allison lead the conversation as well as the way. She did not consider her lies too convincing, but it seemed her father had done his part to quell their minds and stop the majority of their questions. For all his talk of no one believing her, those many months ago, it seemed he still rather no one even _brush_ against the truth. It was the same reason he held Allison at arms-length more than anyone else in the family, more than her - rumors were powerful tools when they worked in your favor. Otherwise, they were quite effective in ruining a person. 

The girls were the last to arrive to breakfast, save for their father, and they parted to take their seats. Five gave her a knowing look from his seat, but otherwise behaved as if they hadn’t spoken yet. She scanned the rest of the table and studied each of her sibling’s faces. None of the remaining boys seemed particularly interested in her, not that they were in the first place. Her eyes lingered on Luther. If anyone else knew, it was him and it was because Allison told him already. He was low risk though, as he would most likely only use it against her privately. He always found a way to defend their father if he knew a scrap of the truth.

The dull thud of a cane on the steps announced their father’s arrival and Vanya watched her siblings collectively find something interesting on the wall across from their seats. She averted her eyes even as he sauntered into her periphery to his seat. They sat stiffly, all at once, as he permitted them wordlessly to start on their breakfast. Vanya still did not look up as he noisily scraped a knife against his plate and stabbed at whatever Grace prepared for him. The cynical, more paranoid part of her told her he was trying to get her to look up, though she knew, more realistically, he was angry. He was always angry.

The clock ticked by and Vanya could not avoid looking up any longer. She’d eaten her meal quickly, having realized halfway through she had not eaten the night before. She edged her eyes up carefully, first to Ben, whose eyes met hers just as he shoved a fork full of food into his mouth. He smiled awkwardly, lips curled around the silver, before dipping his head as if to ask what she wanted. Her reflexive smile answered and at the sound of another scrape, she turned her head, which caused her smile to vanish at once. Across the table, her father stared down at her over his teacup. Her eyes fell and she stared down at her empty plate.

_Too late._

He spoke suddenly and sharply, and although she knew it was coming, she still jumped.

“I would be remiss to not comment on your individual behavior and performances from last night.” He set the porcelain down with a gentle clink. “Number One, while you appeared every part the emissary, you nearly rendered the French diplomat comatose with your utter lack of conversational vigor.” His voice raised slightly, and drew Vanya’s eye back up to watch him continue to berate her siblings. “Number Two, quite the opposite. I was led to believe Grace resolved your pathetic speech disorder, but as I had the displeasure of hearing you _attempt_ to address a group of donors, I assume you are back to square one.” 

Diego wilted, but his lips twitched through a flurry of silent rebuttals. Across the table from him, Allison straightened up but kept her eyes fixed to the table.

“Number Three, you acted like a silly, empty-headed debutante, and do not think for a moment I did not notice you rumor one of Miss Lagarde’s companions into providing you a glass of champagne. Likewise, Number Four, as we speak, Pogo is conducting a thorough search of your room for a few missing bottles from the bar. You behaved even _worse_ than Three, and your open flirtations will be addressed later.”

Vanya’s eyes flickered to Five, whose jaw clenched in anticipation of his review. “Number Five…I will assign Grace to work with you on proper conversational topics. I received more than one comment from the Times that you were brusque and antisocial.”

In the corner of her eye, she saw Ben grip the edge of the tablecloth to still his hand from shaking. “Number Six. I heard no complaints from our guests, but that may be because you _hid_ for the majority of the evening like a sniveling child.”

She swallowed and forced herself to lift her chin. Two dark eyes bore into her, but his face remained otherwise expressionless. “As for you, Number Seven, you disappointed several guests due to your refusal to perform. Were I a weaker man I would consider myself humiliated, but are we to be surprised by your miserable and substandard behavior? I think not.”

Klaus snickered into his napkin, clearly pleased the weight of their father’s criticism fell squarely upon her shoulders, and Ben elbowed him. Vanya’s gaze fell to a button her father’s waistcoat. Tears welled in her eyes and she twisted her napkin in her lap.

He spoke again. “Overall, you were all barely passable, but tolerable. Depending on the feedback we receive from the press, this may become a biannual occurrence.” The news prompted an audible groan from Diego, which drew a sharp look from their father, but he continued. “As for today, this morning, I will be pairing you up to spar for an hour. Afterwards, we will run injury and rescue drills. Following lunch,” and his eyes flickered to Vanya, “Pogo will take the lead as I have other business to attend to.” 

He stood up from his seat, dabbed at his goatee with his napkin, then dropped it unceremoniously to his plate. He pulled his watch from its pocket and checked the time, before he looked up again. “You are dismissed, except for Number Three and Number Five. Number Seven, to your room. The rest of you, prepare yourself and arrive to the sparring ring in 20 minutes.”

Vanya’s breath hitched at his instructions for Five and Allison, but she followed his orders. She walked towards the stairs after the remaining four boys, and threw a second glance back at the pair. Five and Allison had moved to stand in front of their father, who spoke at a volume she could not hear from the stairs. As if cued, her siblings looked up from the conversation to stare after her with worried expressions, and Vanya propelled herself up the steps, stomach churning with uneasiness.

— 1:30 PM —

“Enter.”

Reginald perched behind his heavy wooden desk with a pen set to a stack of papers and listened as Number Seven slid the door open and shut. He noted as she crossed the room her dismissal of the locks on the door and swallowed an impish smile at her forethought. How plain, the feeling of terror that emanated off of her in waves. 

He let her stand for a few minutes as he continued writing, before he motioned idly towards a chair. He glanced at her when she did not sit.

“No thank you.” She said curtly. 

His eyes flickered back down to his work, but he did not issue a command. “Number Seven. I believe you know why I summoned you here.” He intoned flatly. “I am aware you have spoken to your sister and brother about their roles in cleaning up your mess. I briefed them again this morning, and assuaged their ill-placed paranoia regarding your well-being.” He scratched a final note on the benefit and returned his pen to its cradle. He steepled his fingers and sat back in his chair.

Number Seven blinked rapidly a few times. Though fear radiated off of her, her efforts to mask it were clear. Her hands were behind her back, and her brown eyes were screwed to him. He couldn’t help but admire the soft curve of her face, outlined perfectly by her dark hair, even when she stood before him both defiant and fearful. He knew she was most likely in the middle of a silent rehearsal.

She did not begin as he expected. 

“Thank you for listening to me last night.” He watched her swallow bubble of air and tracked its way down her pale throat. “I am sorry. I used poor judgement in allowing Mr. Stevens to escort me outside.”

_Where to start._ He pondered momentarily. “‘Poor’ is an understatement. I cannot adequately explain the depths of my disappointment in you, Number Seven. I warned you on multiple occasions that Mr. Stevens was a degenerate, and you still bumbled into his arms like a stupid teenage girl.”

She dropped her eyes and mumbled something. The action made his blood instantly boil.

“What did you say?” He said sharply. “Speak up.” 

She repeated herself, voice dripping with regret. “I said I _am_ a teenage girl.”

His eyes narrowed. “Yes, unfortunately.” He said, voice thick with resentment. “But I hold the Umbrella Academy to a higher degree of expectations.”

This drew a reaction from the girl. Her head snapped back up. She was misty eyed, but a sneer took root at the edge of her mouth. “Am I a member of the Academy? I seem to only be a part of the team when it is convenient for you.” 

He dismissed her emotional outburst. “Spare me the dramatics. I am not to blame for your failure to heed my warnings. Tell me, what would you have done if Number Five hadn’t happened by? If the courtyard were empty?” 

His queries stopped Seven in her tracks. Her mouth closed. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully, and he did not think it necessary to prompt her again. 

She took a deep breath and reined in her tone. “I could have handled it.” Her eyes didn’t return to his face, but instead stared off into the space beside him. “If I had remained calm, I could have controlled the situation. I would have brought him to you…somehow.”

Reginald scoffed, as the memory of a much younger Seven shattering his monocle crossed his mind. Control was not the girl’s forte. “Enough with the hypothetical, it is useless to chatter on about what you _would_ have done. Let’s discuss what _actually_ took place.” He moved forward in his seat and leaned on his forearms over the desk. “From the beginning. What prompted you to accompany Mr. Stevens?”

Another pause, which did not bode well for the detail he craved. He frowned and chided her. “Eye contact, Number Seven.” Her eyes darted back to him. To his delight, fear still seeped from her delicate features. No matter how she resisted, the obedience he worked into the children remained bone deep. 

She fidgeted with the edge of her skirt but acquiesced. “I came down through Grace’s entrance. No one noticed and I thought you would like that,” She swallowed, clearly waiting for the confirmation he would not give her. “After that, I went to the living room to find Grace. Instead, Anne found me. I met her companions and we spoke for a bit.”

The interaction with Miss Lagarde was new information. He seized upon it first. “What did you discuss with Anne?”

She paled at the question, but answered. “She told me she felt sorry for me.” Her lip quivered briefly and her tone weakened. “She asked me if you treated me well.”

Reginald stared at the girl and a smooth rage churned in his stomach. He pressed himself to remain calm and detached. “And? What did you tell her?”

“A version of the truth.” Her gaze remained even, though it seemed to beseech him, still searching for approval. “I told her that I am treated no differently than the others.” 

Reginald seethed over his colleagues interrogating the girl. The idea that two members of the circle questioned his treatment of her did not speak well of his influence. At the other end of his anger, was the constant frustration of how such a simple creature like Number Seven evoked such responses from others. He wetted his dry lips and rubbed at his wrist absently. “How did the conversation end?”

She was quick this time to answer and nearly squirmed out of her seat. “I left. The way she _looked_ at me… I couldn’t stand it. I left her to look for Grace again, but instead I…”

“You found John.” He glowered. Number Seven nodded and could not help but smile weakly, probably out of nerves. He observed slight changes in her facial expression. Though the man threatened _everything _the girl relied on as well as her safety, she appeared to be somewhat fascinated. His scowl deepened. “Go on.”__

__

__Seven appeared to remind herself of her position and the sudden brightness in her looks dimmed. Her shaky hands moved to a lock of hair. “Yes, he caught me by the arm because I looked upset. Then he…” Seven paused, eyes flashing with a renewed anxiousness. “He seemed to like my dress.”_ _

__

__The outrage that simmered in his stomach burned up his throat and he gripped at his wrist. He dug a nail into the underside, right along the veins. It was only because their eyes were locked that he noticed hers glance down at his hands. He immediately withdrew the one he’d scratched, ignorant of the small amount of blood that budded along the surface of his skin. He laid it across his lap, out of her view, and remained balanced on his other elbow._ _

__

__“Then he asked me to accompany him to the courtyard for a spot of fresh air, and I made the mistake of following him.”_ _

__

__Reginald’s struggle to overcome his temper was palpable. It was as if the air left the room and threatened to choke them both. His eyes glittered with anger as well as a sickening jealousy. It was several minutes before he looked away and stood, which startled the girl. He clasped his hands behind his back and wandered towards the closest window, neck craning downward slightly to peer outside into the blustery yard._ _

__

__“So, he took advantage of your emotional state. Predictable. Tell me everything you discussed.”_ _

__

__“He told me he had visited the house when he was my age…But the conversation, um, quickly turned. He asked if I ever thought of leaving the mansion and the Academy.”_ _

__

__He stiffened noticeably, but did not face her. “And have you?” He asked softly, though he knew the answer._ _

__

__Seven’s voice flared again. “Does it matter?” Yet her tone fell as quickly as it rose. “He told me how you have _discarded_ people before, for being useless. He believes that you will kick me out the moment you lose interest in me. The moment I don’t do _everything exactly_ as you say.” She sniffed behind him and wavered. “B-But what he doesn’t know is that I’m already useless _twice_ over. I’m not sure _why_ you keep me around, especially now since _it’s_ over. And you know what? I-I could go, and I would get by. John said-“_ _

__

__Reginald turned at last to interject. “ _Where_ in God’s name do you think you would go? _Who_ else would take you in? Stevens?” He was aghast by the girl’s delusion. His voice could command a room, and he focused the whole of it on her. “I’d never rank you amongst the cleverest in the Academy, but I certainly did not consider you a complete idiot, Number Seven. That man… _he_ would be the one to use you, get bored of you, and ultimately cast you off.” Number Seven shrank into her seat and stared up at him, her eyes as wide as saucers._ _

__

__He advanced towards her slowly, hands gesticulating as he went. “Your mistake nearly jeopardized the Academy. Should anything happen to me, where do you think you would go? Or your sister and brothers? You would be split up. Half of you would become reprobates and leech off of society, and the other half sold to highest bidder.” He paused a foot or so short of her seat. He towered over her, his dark eyes unrelenting as they bore into her. He clenched and released his jaw, and he knew he was only a few ill excuses away from tearing into her. “You children like to blame me for everything, but without my resources and my support, you are as likely to survive the real world as a wounded animal.”_ _

__

__Number Seven twisted in her seat and folded her arms over her chest protectively. She blinked back tears as best as she could. She held onto herself with rigid fingers, but to her credit, she did not look away from him. She’d absorbed each and every word he’d thrown at her. He leaned back, having realized he angled himself above her seat._ _

__

__She took a deep breath and wiped her red, wet face with one hand. “I still want to try.” Her hand swiped along her jaw. “Ever since, you p-put that soap in my mouth for lying, ever s-since you…you...” Seven trailed off and her eyes rolled downward for a second before bobbing back up with new pools of tears. “I think about leaving every day. When I broke our agreement, I thought I could move on and forget what you’ve done to me. But it scared me when, for a moment, I honestly thought I would go with John.” She gulped down a breath. Trembling, she stood up before him, all of five feet. “It made me realize that I am ready for the world outside of this place because I am willing to hitch myself to the nearest monster to make it happen.”_ _

__

__His temper boiled over. The insolence of the girl before him was too much to not elicit a response. “You realize he is not coming back, don’t you?”_ _

__

__It took a moment, but realization dawned on her. It gradually spread to her expression, dampening the fury she’d stoked within herself. Her eyebrows curved upward and her mouth fell open. “Allison told me that she only rumored him to forgetting the last week.”_ _

__

__His mouth drew itself into a taut smile. “Number Three did as I asked, correct. The rumor calmed him down. Then she and Five returned to the party. But John? Well, he knew too much. He was a liability. We took a short walk together to discuss things like gentlemen.”_ _

__

__Number Seven paled and raised her shaking hands to hold the sides of her head. They ran over the crown of her head and down her hair to her neck. Her eyes darted frantically across empty space as she pieced it together._ _

__

__Reginald regarded her coldly. She’d done this to herself. Whatever despair she felt now, it was but a taste of what he could actually inflict. “It is a shame. When he is likely found in the river this afternoon…his blood alcohol content combined with the nasty gash on his head, they will tell quite the unfortunate story of just another drunk man meeting with an accident.”_ _

__

__She looked up at him slowly, face frozen in shock and disgust. Through some force of will, she regained some measure of composure. “Why?”_ _

__

__His smile softened. “Because of you, Number Seven.” He lifted a hand, and then his long fingers were on her chin. They kept her eyes level to his and where he touched her, he felt his skin warm despite her tears. Her eyes were deep, tired, and darkened by anguish. They threatened to swallow him whole, blistering anger and all. He had said it once and he would say it a thousand times over - it was a terrible waste, for her to have so much power and be unable to wield it properly._ _

__

__He brought his mouth to hers in an oddly chaste kiss. He closed the distance between them and brought his other arm around her waist, where she weakened in his hold. The kiss was brief and when they parted, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “I ‘keep’ you ‘around’ because I cannot fathom your absence.” It didn’t matter whether or not the girl believed him, half-truths sustained her so far. Whatever kept her on his leash was worth saying._ _

__

__In his hold, Seven wilted but did not move to escape. She simply deflated. The anger and despondence that fueled her left. She finally spoke as he loosened his grasp on her chin. “I can’t do this anymore, _dad_. I’m serious about leaving.”_ _

__His smile tugged at him, a bit tickled that even almost a full year later she still insisted on trying to _guilt_ him by leveraging a weak legal definition. The term merely summoned a rush of blood below the belt. “Once more, and then you can go.” _ _

__

__She glanced sadly at the unlocked door, then back to him with a sigh. “Do you promise? You won’t stop me?”_ _

__

__“I will not.” _You will come crawling back._ “I promise.”_ _

__—_ _

__One moment, his blood boiled at the thought of Seven leaving the mansion. He had been enraged and jealous over a dead man, one he personally dispatched, for threatening to claim what was rightfully his property. The next, he was bent over her, their clothes carelessly shed and crumpled on the floor of his bedroom. His temper and covetousness were still there, an electric current beneath his skin, and his hands and mouth were conduit._ _

__

__He arced above her body, lips connected to one breast and hands rolling over another. Beneath him, Number Seven became less inhibited by the minute. Naturally, she resisted their coupling at first, but her grief and fury melted with his touch. She writhed beneath him, even tried to coax his hands with her movements to her thighs and weeping cunt. He growled into her chest and bit down. He brushed his hand purposefully across atop her mons, fingertips barely tickling the hint of hair that grew there._ _

__

__She was his. She told him so. She wasn’t leaving either, because she promised him that as well. Every kiss and suck he planted on her flesh was a reminder of that fact. She mewled beneath him, bucking into his teasing hand, and cried out as he slid two fingers into her at last. Reginald worked his fingers into her deeply, reveling in the softness of her innermost self. He pulled and pushed back into her repeatedly, each thrust of his hand earning a sharp cry or moan. He stretched his thumb upward to caress her clit and moved his mouth up to her neck. Number Seven could deny it all she liked, but she rutted into his hand desperately._ _

__

__His erection pressed painfully against his trousers and her soft belly, but he wanted to relish what he assumed was their last meeting for the time being. He managed to hiss into her neck, amazed at how hard her hands gripped his undone shirt. “You are needy. So needy.” She sobbed in response, which signaled to him she was close again. He yanked his fingers out from her and ignored her loud, gasping protests. He quickly undid the front of his trousers and he pulled himself out, slicking himself with precum and what mess she left on his hand. Her fingers threatened to rip his sleeves as he positioned himself up against her._ _

__

__He rocked against her folds once or twice and reveled in the wetness between her thighs. He reached for her face a second time and guided her attention back to him. Fear, loathing, and desire clouded her eyes. Her pink face shone with sweat and still drying tears, and her lips swollen and puckered from his mouth. He pushed into her slowly, savoring the warm grip, and his hand fell from her chin to her throat. He pressed his thumb to the front of her pale neck and roughly sank into her the rest of the way. A flash of panic crossed her face as he choked her lightly, but with a few thrusts, her cries returned to a series of notes in a crescendo._ _

__

__Reginald eventually released her neck. He didn’t need to leave a visible mark and invite further inquiry. He alternated between a halting and frantic pace, torn between racing towards oblivion and wanting to prolong the experience. Number Seven had already orgasmed against his fingers and neared another. He held out, but knew it would not last. The muscles in his upper thighs twitched uncontrollably and his hands shook as they continued to prod and caress her body._ _

__

__One of Seven’s hands flew up suddenly and clapped over her mouth just as a piercing yelp erupted from her mouth. She shook hard and long against him, and whimpered as his assault did not slow or stop to accommodate her sensitivity. The hand pressed to her mouth eventually slackened and fell to rest beside her head, and the other that gripped at his arm joined its twin to bracket her dumbstruck face. Reginald grinned at her eyes, which fluttered halfway open to watch him finish._ _

__

__With a few final deep thrusts, he spilled into her with a groan and caught himself roughly before he could collapse atop her tiny frame. His forearm muscles whined from supporting his weight, and he rolled beside her as he withdrew from her body. He absently raised a hand to straighten the monocle he’d removed on their way to bed, and instead stroked his face._ _

__

__Beside him, Number Seven squirmed and gasped, reeling from his orgasm. She rolled to her side to face away from him._ _

__

__Though spent, he maneuvered himself slowly to engulf her body with his. His hand skirted over her waist and stomach, and pressed her back into him. He felt her skin turn gooseflesh and watched with some amusement as the tiny, near-invisible hairs on her bare arms rose under his fleeting touch. He pressed his face to her mess of brown hair and inhaled._ _

__

__Several minutes passed before she piped up, voice a bit hoarse from a dry throat. “This is the last time…Right?”_ _

__

___So you would like to believe._ He grinned into her hair, grateful she could not see him. His hand brushed upwards and gently cupped a breast. “Yes, though I must remind you… If you leave, things will not be easy for the rest of them.”_ _

__

__She shivered, but it was not clear if it was from his touch or his words. “I know.”_ _

__

__His hand tweaked a still-hard nipple and her breath hitched. His hand released it and traveled downward. It barely skimmed the expanse of her side until it came to a stop on her arse. “I should also warn you, that once you leave this house,” He pressed further into her hair until he found her neck. He kneaded her flesh leisurely. “You will never be allowed to return, nor will you be allowed to visit or interact with any of them.”_ _

__

__She shifted against his palm, though the whimper that escaped seemed choked. She tried to roll against him, but stopped as his hand left her backside to hold her in place. “I…I didn’t-“_ _

__

__“Didn’t think of that, eh?” Reginald clicked at her disapprovingly. It was not by accident his wards behaved severely sheltered. They were highly capable when guided by the right hand and under close watch, but the moment any of them began to think for themselves…It wasn’t a skill he necessarily encouraged. He needed Number Seven to know the consequences of throwing everything away. She needed to understand that she could only crawl through life on his lead._ _

__

__He caressed her hipbone and drew lazy circles with the pad of a finger. “Outside of these walls, you would be just another civilian. An unnecessary distraction, an emotional pitfall. You would be forfeiting your purpose. Here, where the circumstances may not be _exactly_ to your liking, you have a family, an education, personal quarters…and a purpose, something you would understand if you stepped outside of this make-believe, this fantasy of you’ve concocted to protect yourself.”_ _

__

__Number Seven was silenced again, possibly ruminating over his explanations. He retracted his hand when it was clear her answer would not come easily, rolled back to his side, stood, and set to work putting himself back together._ _

__

__By the time she sat up, hair a dark waterfall over her shoulders and back, he was fastening his vest. His eyes followed her as she did the same. Her small hands shook as she pulled her underthings and skirt back on, and clumsily tucked her shirt in._ _

__

__“I can see that I have left you much to think about, so I will not rush you. The…ultimate decision is yours, but I urge you, whatever you do choose, to be _deliberate _. Consider it the point of no return.”___ _

____ _ _

____She did not give any indication whether or not she understood him. She finished dressing and on quivering legs, carried herself out of his quarters. Behind a thick wall of hair, she hid her face, and deprived him any visual evidence of her current state. He did not stop her as she proceeded to unlock and leave his wing of the house. Reginald leaned against the doorway, hands tucked in his pockets, and stared. A wave of déjà vu fell over him._ _ _ _

____-_ _ _ _

____Grace stepped out of her room as she approached. Her legs were still trembling and the surprise nearly tipped her over. She caught herself on the wall with her fingertips and she stared up at the blonde, whose eyes were bright and warm once more._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“Oh, there you are! I was just dropping off a little something in your room.” The woman grinned and reopened the door, then stepped aside to allow Vanya inside._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Vanya, already nauseous from the last hour, hesitated. She had successfully ditched her father’s first gift. If there was another, after all they discussed, she’d vomit. She steeled herself and poked her head around the corner of the door. Atop her desk, beside the violin case, sat a bouquet of purple, blue, and white flowers in a tall crystal vase. She stepped around Grace and further into the room, though remained apprehensive given her day. “What?”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Grace explained, voice melodic and excited. “Those came for you while you were at your lesson. They are from Miss Anne Lagarde, apparently she wanted to apologize for upsetting you last night? She left her business card.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____The girl glanced back at her mother, then to the bouquet. Indeed, a small card sat atop her desk next to the vase. She picked it up and turned it over. The thick cardstock was embellished with a violet and the name ‘Lagarde’ on one side, and the other stated Anne’s full name and information. She smiled sadly. She regretted the way she ran away from the older woman. Though her pity was humiliating, she at least seemed genuinely interested in her well-being._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Behind her, Grace idled in the doorway, but caught on as Vanya remained silent. “I’ll leave you to get cleaned up for the rest of the day. If I remember correctly, you have a bit of Bach to get through this evening.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____The door swung and closed with a quiet click. She was alone again. A second card was wedged in a clear plastic spear, tucked into the bouquet. She plucked it out of its place and examined the fine script._ _ _ _

_____’Miss Vanya, I hope these flowers find you in better spirits. I have always adored hyacinth and iris. Please understand it was not my intention to upset you last night. I sincerely wish to be your friend, and friends look out for one another._ _ _ _ _

_____Warm regards,  
-Anne Lagarde’_ _ _ _ _

____ _ _

____She tucked the cards into her desk and proceeded to change for the second time. She peeled off her wrinkled clothes and soiled underthings, and put on a fresh uniform. Her mind left the matter of the bouquet quickly and returned to her father’s second proposal and millionth warning. She knew, in her gut, he was right. She didn’t stand a chance in the real world. Beyond the violin, she possessed no real skills. Perhaps if she had a credentialed education, one that would impress a fancy school she really could speak a handful of languages, recite ancient epics, among a number of other impressive feats, she could manage. But the isolation and alienation were part of her father’s plan to keep her, all of them, under his thumb._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Vanya tucked her violin case underneath her arm and carried it to the gallery, her secondary practice space. By now, her father was back to work and her siblings were in the training wing. Grace would have moved to the basement. No audience, and it was just as well, for the tears returned as she began to play._ _ _ _

____— Mid November —_ _ _ _

____Vanya packed her bags. Though she did not possess many personal belongings, her valise nearly burst from the number of items she managed to find. A few books, sheet music, extra socks and underwear, as well as toiletries. She had been in the middle of planning her great escape, torn over whether or not she had the guts to steal the violin, when the first fracture occurred._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Five argued with their father a _lot_ , more than anyone else. Vanya always figured it stemmed from how alike they were in personality. But when Five looked at her from across the table _that_ morning, it was as if he knew he wasn’t coming back. She’d warned him before in their fleeting moments together. Practically begged him to drop his theories of time travel, but when it came to it, _he_ was the first one of them to leave. His departure darkened the household. When he failed to return, their father immediately added his name and circumstance to his arsenal of threats and warnings. _ _ _ _

____ _ _

____She’d spent months sneaking out of bed to leave a sandwich and a light on for him, and prayed to a god she was sure that didn’t exist to bring him back. Guilt consumed every waking moment. His absence made the mansion more of a joyless prison, which in turn grew her desire to leave it. Yet she stayed, knowing that if she left, there truly would not be another chance to see him again. The conundrum kept her tethered to the house, for the whole of the summer and fall. To her surprise, her father kept his word, but only because he started to hole up in his office for longer stretches of time when the team was not out on a mission._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____She unpacked her bags weeks after Five’s disappearance, only to drag them back out months later._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Ben’s death was really the final straw. The Academy, what was left of them, had gathered in the falling snow in the courtyard. Their father, perhaps out of shock and humiliation, berated them for their failures to protect him via eulogy. And when she tried to comfort her brothers and sister, Diego reminded her all too cruelly that she wasn’t even one of them. His words were a hard slap. A cold splash of water that woke her up from her grief and guilt, and hauled her back into her stark reality. In the worst ways, the loss of two of her brothers, her favorite brothers, gave her the permission and courage she lacked before._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Following the service, she marched like a woman possessed to her room. She dug out a crumpled $20 bill, the one her father had given her almost a year prior for the museum. She also retrieved Anne’s cards, and hoped the older woman’s address had not changed._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Grace and Pogo found her first. She deliberately left down the central staircase, her suitcase in one hand and violin in the other. Her day bag was slung across her chest, filled with the little money and information she needed to make a start. She was sixteen and terrified, but ready. Pogo said a few words, his feeble attempt to stop her, and Grace simply acted as if she were setting off on a short trip. It didn’t appear that she was programmed to handle the situation._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____The remaining Hargreeves found her second. The small herd of teenage superheroes were on their way back from the training wing, exhausted from a morning of routines. Yet as soon as Allison let out a little sound of surprise, the rest of them snapped to attention. Her sister was the only one to approach. Her brothers seemed resigned, though Vanya noted a glimmer of jealousy from the sullen Diego._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“Vanya? Are you…leaving?” Her sister’s voice nearly broke her heart._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Vanya nodded. “Yes. I can’t stay here anymore, Allison.” She offered her arms and tucked her chin atop her sister’s shoulder when she immediately accepted the hug. “I’m not meant to be here.” She whispered._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“But you’re our sister.” Allison replied softly, voice thick with tears._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“I know,” She stroked her sister’s hair to comfort her before pulling away. “I’ll always be your sister. But I have to do this, or else I’ll never leave.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Her sister’s lips quivered as she clearly struggled to understand. She opened her mouth, but the voice of their father boomed from across the hall._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“And what is the meaning of this?”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Vanya looked over Allison’s shoulder. He stood, notebook clutched in a white knuckled fist at his side. She recognized his look of pure rage and had to briefly admire his learned control. She took a deep breath and opened her bag to retrieve a brown envelope. She marched towards him, sure and steady under his eye for the first time in her life. She held it out to him and spoke, her voice a whisper. “I’m leaving. You promised you would not stop me. This is for you.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____He glared down at her and yanked the envelope from her. He tucked it immediately into his notebook, eyes never leaving her face._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“I understand what my leaving means for them, and I certainly hope that one day they forgive me…But I hope you know, that despite all that you may have done _for_ me, I’ll never forgive you for what you have done _to_ me.” She’d rehearsed it a dozen times, and it felt just as good saying it aloud as it did in her head. _ _ _ _

____ _ _

____His face revealed nothing. It remained frustratingly flat, his anger only a flash in his eyes. He cleared his throat after a few seconds before gesturing towards the door with a nod of his head. “So long as you know that this is, as I said, the point of no return.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Vanya allowed a tiny defiant smile. “Yes. Goodbye, dad.” Then she turned and crossed back to her belongings. She gave another round of hugs to the trio gathered there, and waved to her brothers who still did not dare to go any closer with their father’s disapproving glare upon them._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____She resisted a final glance back at her father. Pogo grabbed the door for her and she passed through. Fresh snow coated the sidewalk and glittered under the afternoon sun. The doors swung shut behind her with an unceremonious thud and she was…out. People walked past the house on the sidewalk and took no notice. Car horns and an ambulance blared in the distance. There was no fanfare, only the beep of a taxi as she flagged it down._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____She tossed her things into the back of the cab and slid in. The driver, an older man, took Anne’s business card from her momentarily, before pulling away from the curb. She rode in silence for a few blocks before the driver piped up._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“So, can’t help but notice where I picked you up, kid. Are you one of those superheroes?”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Vanya smiled softly, teary eyes watching the neighborhood pass by. “No. I’m ordinary.”_ _ _ _

____—_ _ _ _

____He found himself in the gallery that evening, snifter in hand full of his second helping of brandy. After Number Seven’s dramatic show, the remainder of the day was brutal. He made sure of it. He denied the children of their customary post-lunch reflection and set them back to work in the sparring ring. He purposefully held off calling the matches, keen to make the quartet realize each bruise, each cut, was all her fault. Number One was the only one not left in tears at the end of the day._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Reginald let out a frustrated sigh and collapsed back into the conversation chair. He stared into a space between portraits and simmered. Every nerve ending was alight. He did not know what made him angrier - her leaving, or the fact he fooled himself into believing she’d stay even after the year’s events. He ran his free hand through his thinning hair, then raked his fingers along his neck. He then adjusted his monocle, which his drew his attention to something odd. He sat up after a moment as he realized what he as looking at. He stood and walked towards an empty frame. He drank deeply and ran a finger over the small gold placard. _’Andrew Wyeth. Christina's World. 1948.’__ _ _ _

____ _ _

____He frowned, but then a low chuckle escaped him. If the girl wanted to drag herself along pitifully, then he’d let her. But she’d never make it back to the house._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, this is the end of this terrible story. I hoped I captured a dark re-telling of Vanya's youth. Despite what I've put her through, she is perhaps my favorite character. While I've obviously taken the relationship between her and Reginald to the worst place, their dynamic fascinates me in the show. I'm also intrigued by his relationship with Five, and perhaps I'll explore that in the future. I don't think I'll write anything this dark again, though. 
> 
> I've learned a lot over the course of writing this fanfic and hope to put it all to good use. Thank you for reading.
> 
> Here is what I listened to while closing out the story:
> 
> Shadows, Chromatics  
> everything I wanted, Billie Eilish,  
> hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have - but i have it, Lana Del Rey  
> The Dark Side of the Matinée, Franz Ferdinand  
> Left You at The Farm, Michelle Gurevich  
> Changelings, Gazelle Twins  
> For the Damaged, Blonde Redhead,  
> Emperor, Wilson  
> Eyes Without a Face, Baustelle  
> L'imaginaire, Gang of Youths  
> Duet (from Stoker), The Piano-Fortissimos  
> Elevator Song, Keaton Henson


End file.
